


Onward and Upward

by brisingr_30



Category: Baby Steps (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/M, Ice Skating, Olympics, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sports, Tennis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:07:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26483887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brisingr_30/pseuds/brisingr_30
Summary: The world is harsh and unforgiving- especially for a professional athlete struggling to reach the top; surviving each day’s rigors requires not only an indomitable spirit but a fair bit of luck. Ike Souji and Okuda Tsuna; two talented young athletes strive to reach their goals while dealing with everything life might throw their way.





	1. Part One: Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> What I loved about Baby Steps was the realism employed by the author surrounding the world of tennis. If I can capture even a minuscule amount of the magic that made Baby Steps into what it was, then hopefully this story will be what I want it to. Nevertheless, it's not perfect. I've learned a lot more about Tennis and Figure Skating than I ever thought I would, but that knowledge is fallible. I'm sure I've made mistakes or taken artistic liberties to make this story work that would never happen in real life. Thankfully, however, it's just a tale. So if you'd be willing to suspend your disbelief, I'd love to take you along for this ride. 
> 
> -Brisingr30

_2/10/13_

_There's nothing better than feeling the rush of adrenaline the moment your feet leave the ice; the blur of the blue rink walls as they flash by in an indiscernible haze; the sound and the spray of ice chips as your skate catches a groove dug into the smooth surface; the feel of your muscles contracting, bracing and winning against the inevitability of gravity._

_There's nothing better than the feeling of figure skating._

_When I next step on the ice, I promise, I won't take it for granted. Next time_

She paused, could she write that? Those two words ' _next time_ ', loomed far too large, ominously standing out from the blank page of her journal despite how innocuous the phrase seemed.

Doctor Friedemann had given them a 4-8-week timetable for rehabilitation, he'd promised that if she wore the back brace and cut off her on-ice training, the fracture would heal on its own.

Four long weeks of sitting about, lazing, watching the clock tick by as the rest of her peers progressed, and still, the pain persisted.

Okuda Tsuna.

A year ago, her name had meant something. She could have walked into any skating club across Japan and heard it mentioned in at least one conversation between excited children or in a hushed conversation between coaches as they discussed the latest junior competition. For a time, she had been regarded as one of the brightest lights. Leading the forefront of the Japanese figure skating, the upcoming talent thought to have the capability to surpass the old generation. She doubted that was still the case.

Tsuna stared down at the plain white covers on her bed, her eyes tracing the lightly stitched pattern, the simple outline one she'd grown intimately acquainted with over the past seven months. Her fingers traced the pattern by rote, as these past four weeks without the ice had etched the bedding design into her muscle memory. For hours on end as she'd stared out her window or read the homework her homeschool teacher had assigned her, her fingers had traced over the raised stitches engraining them into her being.

She shook her head; this year hadn't turned out the way she'd hoped.

America was supposed to have been her beginning. The step that would propel her not just into the senior world of figure skating but to the apex, where Olympic Gold lay.

Coach Andrei Moravec.

A taskmaster with a storied track record; he'd proven again and again over the decades that he had the ability to coach female skaters to Olympic and World glory. In the international world, those he coached rocketed to the top of the standings. Their jumps unmatched and in many cases technically flawless with never a hint of a negative 'Grade of Execution'. She had left her hometown of Takamatsu with the belief that he would be the coach that would make her unbeatable.

Tsuna flopped back, covering her face as she felt tears well in the corner of her eyes. It was disheartening that even that small motion was accompanied by a flare of pain. A reminder of the injury that had sidelined her for the past month.

The hot Californian sun beat relentlessly against the tiny bedroom window, a less than subtle reminder of the balmy weather just outside the apartment building. Despite the coming Fall weather, the current temperature at 80 degrees and impossibly sunny was in direct contrast to her morose attitude. Even the weather mocked her morose attitude.

When her family had been at its most fragile, she'd pulled her parents apart, travelling halfway across the world with only her mother all in search of a dream that might never come to fruition. She'd overlooked the language barrier, believing it to be something she could overcome, the cultural difference one that could eventually be overlooked. Now, seven months later, with a spine fractured in two different places and a coach that had seemingly lost all interest in her, it felt like she was floundering, adrift at sea without a hint of land in sight.

A tear slowly made its way down her cheek to wet the pillow underneath her head. Unquestionably as each minute ticked by, the pressure bearing down grew just a little more. With her first senior nationals just two months away and the Olympics in four, she didn't have time for injuries, these were the days and hours that counted the most, she couldn't afford to squander them.

What would _he_ say, if at fourteen her dreams died, and she became a has-been before she had ever become anything?

She'd tried and trained so hard and, in the process, broken herself. No, she shook her head, she'd been broken long before coming to Santa Clarita.

The front door of the apartment squeaked softly before giving way to the sound of quiet feet on linoleum flooring. It was all the forewarning she had, with hurried motions, Tsuna sat up and brushed away any evidence of the tear tracks that had made her way down her cheeks.

"Tsuna? Darling?"

Tsuna could hear the fake cheer in her mother's voice, the lilt added to her voice that did little to cover up the deep-seated tiredness. It was important to remember that she wasn't the only one that had been worn down over the past few months, a toll had been felt by everyone in her family, she couldn't allow herself to add to the weight.

"Are you hungry?" Her mother stuck her head into their shared bedroom, a small smile on her face.

No, "Yes." she lied. They both knew that neither of them had truly felt hungry in a while, still, they refused to shatter the delicate façade that lay heavy over their lives. "Sorry, just give me a second."

"Good—" she withdrew, "—I'll have to leave soon, but I'd like to see you before I do."

How could she deny her mother, especially after everything she did for her, everything she'd sacrificed in the name of her training. She could make herself eat.

·‡·

The kitchen was small. Fitted with a glass table just big enough for two and a connected area just large enough to turn around in and cook. It was a far cry from the kitchen she'd grown up in; still, they'd made do. Still, though it was just the two of them whenever her mother and herself worked together in the space they inevitably touched arms or collided as they worked around each other.

"Here, set out the rice for me— Coach Moravec called me, he wants you at the rink on Monday. He told me that he's bringing in an excellent physical therapist to assess your progress," she said, turning and pulling a few other ingredients from the cupboards. "A Japanese man and a former skater. I couldn't hear him very clearly, but I believe Coach Moravec said his name was Naito-san?" She handed Tsuna a second bowl before steering her to stand in front of the stove.

Tsuna hummed quietly under her breath; she couldn't care if the man was Japanese, Chinese, Russian. If Coach Moravec thought him good enough to get her back on the ice and save her season, he could be from Lesotho for all she cared. "The tamagoyaki is finished."

"Good, set it on top of the rice for me dear. Coach Moravec said that we're lucky to get Naito-san, that he works with some of the top athletes in the world, but because of a few mutual acquaintances, Moravec-san was able to get him to fly to California… Tsuna? Darling? are you listening?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Here, place the pickles and soup on the table and go sit down. I'll finish the fish."

Fish, soup, rice and eggs, they ate the same thing most nights. It was a dinner high in protein, or as her mother liked to say, 'a dinner that was fit for an athlete'. They both knew the truth. She'd seen how her mother shifted through the coupon booklet, carefully cutting out those with the best deals, before placing them carefully in the small leather book she'd taken to carrying around with her. Like, the small bible, one of her rink mates carried in her bag and brought out before every competition. She saw her mother touching it sometimes, her fingers running over the worn leather for just a moment before hiding it once again from her sight.

She wasn't supposed to have seen it; like so many facets of their life since moving from Japan, it was just one of many that needed to be swept under the rug. Poking at the egg, she watched it jiggle on its perch on top of the rice, what a precarious situation, at any moment it all could topple over.

"—darling? Tsuna, are you listening to me?" asked her mother; placing the fish and the last of the bowls on the tiny table. "Moravec seems to think that with the physical therapists help there's no way you won't be ready for championships. By the time February rolls around, you'll be back to your old self just in time for the Olympics." She reached across the table and stroked Tsuna's cheek with a finger, "Olympic gold."

Her stomach clenched, "right" She'd dreamt of the day she'd find herself on top of the podium, standing there in front of the crowd, the Japanese anthem blaring, her country's flag waving behind her, but to hear that dream vocalized sent shivers down her spine. "He said that… He thought that I—" she choked feeling her throat close, she couldn't finish the sentence, not with her mother looking on. "I'll win, for you, dad and Isao, I promise."

"Oh, darling, I know you will. There's not a single more talented skater out there, not a one. Coach Moravec knows it, your father and I know it." She reached across the table intertwining her fingers with Tsuna's, her eyes flickering down to her wristwatch. "You know it too. Here… eat. I have to go, or I won't catch the bus." She leaned across the table, brushing her lips across Tsuna's forehead. "I'll be back late tonight, Mr. and Mrs. Farzin-san need me to stay and take care of little Yekta and Mofid. They're going to a big party for the hospital. A donor party with a lot of important people from across the city, so they probably won't be back until late, which means I won't get to see you until tomorrow. Don't forget to finish that fish."

As prompted, she picked at the fish, taking small morsels off little by little, listening as her mother bustled around in their shared bedroom. "Your pocketbook is in the bedroom, right next to the dresser."

"Thank you."

With only half her attention she listened as her mother prattled on about the Farzin's. Switching so quickly between Japanese and English that on more than one occasion she combined the two languages, to create a strange amalgamation of the two that one had to be bilingual to understand. Masae, her mother, did it subconsciously, an innocent mistake that served as a subtle reminder of just how far away from home they truly were.

Her mother bustled by, her hair falling out of the ponytail she'd quickly put it in. "Eat the fish, and don't forget to do your visualization exercises before bed. Oh! And you have Akeno-san's number in case you need anything, and don't forget to finish your homework." She paused at the apartment door, fingers tapping just at the place where the wood chipped, "I feel like I've forgotten something…"

"Everything will be fine. I promise," Tsuna said.

"Oh, darling, I know it will." With a hollow thunk, the door swung shut behind her. Just as quickly as she'd appeared her mother was gone, and the apartment was once again thrust into silence.

Tsuna sat, listening to the conversations of the neighbors and the shrill scratches of the Olumese's child's cello as he practiced what sounded like a poor attempt at either a scale or some new avant-garde composer. She paused, listening closer, it was as she'd originally thought, just a badly performed scale.

She leaned her head against the thin wall, concentrating on the screeching of the musical instrument, the boy was currently murdering. The tears came as easily as they always had, the classical music striking a chord within her that she'd attempted to bury deep within. Isao had once practiced his cello like that. She'd been young, almost far too young to remember, as he'd picked up the cello at five. Still, listening to the squeaky cello awakened memories she'd long since repressed. She remembered the early mornings when she'd woken up to the screeching of his instrument, far too tired to do anything but roll over and pretend he wasn't practicing in the room just next to hers. At the time she'd been convinced that if it was possible for an inanimate object to feel pain, his cello was certainly being tortured.

Truthfully, she didn't remember the moment the harsh noises had turned into music. When he'd grown from a child playing with a piece of polished wood to a musician capable of bringing a crowd to the edge of their seats.

She shook her head, now wasn't the time to think about him, that's what the nights were for and the quiet bus rides to and from the skating club.

Tsuna picked up her chopsticks and began to delicately eat the fish set before her.

It wasn't fresh, and the rice was a strange American version that despite their best efforts refused to stick together as it should, but this was the home they'd created. One, her mother worked two jobs to maintain while her father covered the cost of her coaching and everything else. It was her duty, her promise to her mother, father and brother to try her best and succeed. She ate the fish.

·‡·

_Stand at the edge of the boards, remove her skate guards, bow to coach Moravec, skate two laps performing powerful crossovers, keeping her muscles warm, listen to last-minute advice from her coach, take center ice._

She saw everything in her mind's eye, felt the tremor run through her as excitement and anticipation made it almost impossible to completely hold still.

_The crowd hushed, waiting for the first chord, Vitali's Chaconne in G Minor sounded and she pushed off. Meditative and peaceful she worked her way across the ice, her body following the music, letting it guide and flow around her, wrapping the audience and herself within its soft cocoon._

Two hours of visualization performing the routine over and over until she could envisage each perfect moment. Each jump scored a perfect +3 GOE, her edges during her step sequences were textbook, her positions during her spins flawless. In her imagination, when she skated she was perfect, if only in the hope that life would imitate art.

It was only the beeping of her phone that stirred her; 9:30 pm, thirty minutes past her bedtime. It was always so tempting to stay within her mind, there, she was the Okuda Tsuna she knew she could be, there, her body didn't have aches and pains, there, she could be the perfect daughter and sister, the one who could keep every promise.

She curled up on the second of the two twin beds. Closest to the window and covered in the stuffed animals she'd brought from Japan, and the journal she'd begun just four weeks ago to document the current journey, she both dreaded and welcomed the release she got from it.

Pushing her trepidation to the side, Tsuna laid the journal open, reading the sentence she'd left unfinished.

When I next step on the ice, I promise, I won't take it for granted. Next time. Once more. Indulge me one more time and then I promise I'm done.

There would be no next time. After the Olympics, she was finished.

It was there in writing before her, a written promise to herself, one she wouldn't allow herself to break. What was she if she couldn't define and hold herself to her words?

She stared down at the words, inscribing them into her being, fortifying herself for the hardships and pain to come. As if in answer her back twinged, the pain running through her back, the muscles spasming. Four months and she'd never put her parents through this again.

Her dreams that night were full of nightmares.

·‡·

"My God, look at you."

She was engulfed in a hug, from behind, just as a yelp forced its way from her lips.

"I've missed you so much. Moravec has been awful since you've been away, he made us do like twenty suicides the other day after practice."

"Anne—" she gasped, "—my back, get off."

"Oh, right sorry, I forgot. I was just so excited. Practice hasn't been the same without you my little Tsuna bear."

She closed her eyes, bearing with Anne's attempt to emulate a limpet with as much dignity as she could muster. Anne let go and for just a second Tsuna thought the hug had come to an end. Only for her to spin Tsuna around before pulling her into another tight hug, pressing Tsuna's face far too tight for comfort against Anne's shoulder. "Are you trying to suffocate me?"

"—I almost have my triple axel, Mo thinks that if I have it by the time nationals rolls around then it'll be goodbye fourth place, and hello first!" Anne said, shaking her slightly, ignoring Tsuna's muffled protests. "And we both know what first means; a spot on the Olympic team."

Tsuna grinned, sharing in Anne's excitement. God knows she'd kill to even dream of landing a triple axel, still, she was a big enough person, she could be happy for Anne. "That's amazing, Coach Moravec must be really happy." She paused working hard to school her features just so, hoping the other couldn't see the envy she could feel so clearly breaking through. "We'll talk more about it later, I should go greet coach, before he yells at you for not skating," said Tsuna. "I want to see your triple axel."

Anne let out a muffled whoop and skipped off towards the ice, leaving her guards on the rink's waist-height walls. "Hey, Coach Mo! I'm going to start on axels and work up to my triple. Tsu, don't forget to watch, it really is awesome." Anne pushed away from the wall, just barely escaping a collision with the only other skater on the ice, before turning to wave excitedly at Tsuna.

She leaned against the boards, watching as the two skaters, Anne and Haley intertwine in incongruous patterns across the ice, each caught in their own world, focused solely on themselves and their own practice. Despite the random patterns, they all centered around one nexus; a severe-looking heavy-set man, who stood in the center of the ice watching the proceedings with an eagle eye. Andrei Moravec. There were other coaches at the club, but Moravec was the reason the top skaters in the world congregated in Santa Clarita, California. Those skaters that he handpicked to work with received his full attention every day without fail and all the perks that came with it.

Moravec skated slowly to the side of the rink, coming to a stop in front of Tsuna. "That girl—" he nodded towards Anne, "—so talented and yet so unfocused, not like you, eh?" said Coach Moravec. He turned to Tsuna, patting her gently on the hand.

His thick Slavic accent mixed harshly with the English making his words almost unintelligible to the casual observer; still, he had no problem communicating with his skaters and making his intentions and corrections understood. Moravec nodded to her, "your back is better yes? Dr. Friedemann told me you can begin your rehabilitation starting this week—" He stiffened, attention caught by one of Anne's double axel attempts, as her free leg swung out wildly. "There will be no triple attempts today if your doubles remain as messy as that last one," he called out.

"Um, Coach Moravec, my mother said you had someone for me to meet?"

He glanced down at her, making her feel all five and a half feet of her height.

"Mr. Naito?"

"Naito? I don't know … Nai— oh, you mean Nilton? Nilton Leite, not a very successful skater but an excellent physical therapist. He had a very short career for Brazil, but as a therapist, he's world-class." He paused, slamming his fist down on the top of the boards, bringing the entire rink's attention to him. "Haley, your rotation is too slow, and Anne, don't even try to attempt a triple axel this practice, work on your step sequence instead. Tsuna—" her name when said in his thick accent was barely recognizable, "—while we wait for Nilton, go work up a sweat on the elliptical."

There was no doubt that the past few months and especially the last four weeks with limited to no exercise had taken a toll on her body; eroding the muscles she'd spent years honing. Within twenty minutes she could feel the sweat dripping down her back, within twenty-five she could no longer hide just how out of breath she was. There was some relief, as the knot that had sat at the base of her spine for the past month dissipated with the repeated motion until it was a pale shade of what it had been.

"Slow down, feel each muscle as you move."

Hands wrapped around her waist, acting as a human brace for her back, keeping her from twisting.

"You're babying your back and your injury, you'll end up hurting something else if you continue." He stepped around the back of the machine giving her a clear view of the man. "Nilton Leite, a pleasure to meet you. Coach Moravec asked me to come and help your recovery."

She gawked; hearing Japanese from someone that wasn't Akeno-san or her mother was a welcome shock. From even the quickest of glances it was obvious there was nothing Japanese about the man. Blonde with deeply tanned skin, he reminded Tsuna of the surfers that spent so much time in the California waters.

"Here," Nilton stepped forward, once more placing his hands on her waist, "slow your motion and turn from side to side as you move. There, do you feel that? Nothing harsh, every motion smooth from your feet to your hands. We should treat our bodies as a machine, each part intricately connected to the other." He nodded satisfied. "Andrei said the competition you need to be ready for is in eight weeks."

"Mm-hmm, Japanese senior nationals, if…" she paused her feet uneven putting her slightly off balance. "If I'm chosen that is."

He gave her a small grin, "okay, off the elliptical. Moravec told me that the doctor gave you stretches, have you been doing them?"

"Everyday."

"Good, I'll do an evaluation and give you my own prognosis. We'll see if anything needs to be reevaluated."

He took his time manipulating her back and forth, stretching her back, testing her current range of motion. Nilton cleared his throat, "I watched your free skate and short program from last year's junior grand prix circuit, to see your most recent range of flexibility. It looks like almost half of your flexibility has been lost. Depending on how long it takes for you to heal, you might have to change a few of your routines. Mm-hmm, especially for your nationals, I'd recommend changing or downgrading your spins, especially the ones that put the largest strain on your back." He clicked quietly under his breath, taking a note on his paper. "I can't ask you to completely stop your season. But I doubt you'll gain full mobility back within four months, especially without rest."

Numbly she listened to Nilton talk, watching his mouth move, the words falling on deaf ears. She remembered that performance that he'd referenced. Just under a year ago, with that performance, she'd won Junior World's and broken the junior free skate record. It'd also been the performance that had prompted coach Moravec to offer her a spot among his skaters. He'd told her and her parents that when he'd watched the finals he'd been so impressed with not only her mental fortitude but her athletic ability that he had to offer her a spot.

She nodded, letting Nilton continue to do his tests.

He stretched her arms above her head, elongating her spine. He had a light touch, not once since they'd begun had her back felt particularly strained and yet in the past few minutes she'd moved more than she had in the past few weeks, and without pain.

Tsuna nodded again, letting his words wash over her, taking them with a grain of salt. She'd do what he told her to a point, but she'd never accepted giving up on the season. "You speak Japanese very well."

Nilton paused, most likely taken aback by the sudden change in conversation. "—Bend back as far as you can. I lived in Naha for a time and learned Japanese during that period. I'll support your lower back." He allowed her the freedom to lean back at her own pace, the entire time holding her up with one of his hands. "Does that feel comfortable?"

She shook her head, "it feels okay, but there is some tightness at the base of my spine." Nilton hummed before guiding her up.

Tsuna watched silently as he wrote in an impossibly messy script in his notebook, "I've never been to Naha before but I've heard it's wonderful there. I lived in Kagawa prefecture before I came here."

He glanced up, "Kagawa? Really? What a coincidence, my wife's family is from there. Every year when we go back to Japan we visit, it's a beautiful place. Every time we go, we love riding the ferry." He laughed softly his eyes misting over at a memory from his time there. "I fell off one of the ferry's once, years before, on our first date," he said, trailing off, as just for a moment he was caught in the recollection. Without prompting he shook himself, breaking himself from the memory. "You brought your skates today, yes?"

She nodded, gesturing to the skate bag she'd dropped in the corner of the small gym.

"Good, I want to watch you skate a few laps around the rink. Nothing fancy, I just want to see if the degradation in your muscles has affected your stroke." He picked up her bag, along with his own he'd placed in the opposite corner. "I'll carry it, I doubt that lifting this heavy bag feels particularly good on your back even if you're wearing that brace."

"Um, Leite-san," she felt her cheeks burn, "why are you helping me?— not that I'm not grateful, but coach Moravec mentioned that you were in high demand, so why did you come all this way to help rehabilitate my career?"

"Why shouldn't I? I think you're talented, why wouldn't I go out of my way to help a young skater that has had an unfortunate injury."

"But," it wasn't just her cheeks that felt far too hot, now it was her neck and all the way down through her chest. She was sure that if she had a mirror her entire body would be the shade of a tomato. "But why? There are so many figure skaters that are talented like I was that got injured. Was it because of coach Moravec?"

Nilton paused, his hand on the wooden swing door leading to the rink, his back impossibly straight despite the two bags that should break his perfect posture. "My wife was a Japanese figure skater for a time in the '80s. Towards the end of her career I watched her struggle through injury after injury. Never able to get healthy, she spent the last three years of her career in constant pain. You have a very similar expressiveness in your skating that reminded me of her earlier years and I guess after watching your junior career, I couldn't allow you to walk the same path."

Her two rink mates Anne and Haley flew over the ice, practicing for their respective nationals under coach Moravec's watchful gaze. This was an Olympic year, and the pressure on each skater as the months wore on was immense, from their families, their coaches, the nation. She'd seen both of their routines more times than she could count, as the summer months had come to a close and the fun of learning new skills had petered out. Coach Moravec and their choreographers had taken to drilling each hand movement, marking the places where they were to smile, perfecting each jump. By Nationals their routines would be faultless and by the Olympics, they'd be immaculate.

"Leg up on the landing Haley, present yourself," called coach Moravec.

She'd promised herself Olympic gold, that promise meant she'd have to not only beat the world, but she'd also have to beat Anne and Haley as well. Tsuna stood, feeling the brace under her clothes restrict her breathing, Anne with her incredible jumping skills, Haley with her almost endless stamina and charisma. She bent, removing her guards, stepping one foot after the other onto the ice.

Staying towards the very outskirts of the rink, Tsuna took her first steps in weeks on the icy surface. Long gliding steps, testing out her legs feeling herself shift the balance from one to the other. Her mind felt so far from her body, each step bringing her closer to the same meditative place she found before each competition.

Deftly she moved across the ice, running through her short program choreography, her hands marking the movements, imagining the jumps, spins and step sequences that would come in the coming weeks. Haley flew by her, passing her with a slight smile and a wave before continuing practicing her free skate step sequence.

"Okay, I've seen enough, Tsuna come over." Nilton waved to her from where he stood next to coach Moravec. "Andrei showed me the x-rays your doctor took from four weeks ago, and the ones from just a few days ago." He turned to coach Moravec, "There's still some significant swelling around the lower back area, that if she isn't given a significant amount of rest will only result in worsening the injury. In my opinion, despite the doctor's go ahead, I'd continue to rest Tsuna for at least another two to four weeks."

"—Two weeks?"

"—Two weeks!"

Her stomach felt far too heavy; like Nilton had gone and fed her a lead weight. Two more weeks of sitting as Anne, Haley and the entire world improved. Coach Moravec's face flushed an uncomfortable color of red, the same color she was sure was reflected on her own face. This close to nationals and with the Olympics just a stone's throw away, it was as if Nilton had struck a death knell. Hands that had always been so steady and legs that had supported and pushed her to the top ranks of Japan's juniors shook with panic. He'd given her the warning while they'd stood in the gym, but it hadn't registered that he might recommend more time off the ice.

"Two to four weeks. I'm sure you're both worried about Tsuna's routines and you won't have as much time as others to perfect your routines; but you'll be healthy and god-willing if you take your time now, you'll have many years to come." He turned to her, grabbing her shaking hands in his own. "Obviously, it's not ideal, but I promise in the long run, years from now, you will thank yourself for letting your body heal."

She only realized she was crying when the tears mixed with snot and dripped down her lip the salty liquid entering her mouth.

"I'll write up my official recommendation and email it to both you and Andrei before I return to Florida. Tsuna-san," he waited until he had her full attention before continuing. "Of course, if you have any questions please don't hesitate to email, I'll return in about three weeks' time from my wife's rink in Florida and see how your back has progressed. But you'll have to do your part as well, follow the stretches, when you have your ballet classes no jumps in the center, just bar and then slow adagio. And I'll be adding a few cross-training elements as well to your schedule."

"Thank you, Nilton for your recommendations." Coach Moravec clapped the slightly smaller man on the back. "I'd hoped you'd have better news, but I guess there's nothing to be done. I'll review your email and consider the recommendations."

"Consider?" Nilton's face blanched, turning several shades lighter as his eyes narrowed briefly and his lips thinned. "Seriously, Andrei— we'll need to talk." He turned to her, switching once more to Japanese, "Tsuna-san, you should go get out of your skates for today, you won't be doing anymore skating."

She turned and gave a slight bow to them both, before skating back across the rink to the entrance she'd come in and where she'd left her guards.

"Well?" Anne came to a slow t-stop in front of where she stood. "When are you joining us?" She gave a small nod over her shoulder, indicating the only other skater on the ice. "You know that even though Haley won't say it she misses you too."

"A month." The taste of salt was back in her mouth, and she realized belatedly she was crying again.

"Oh," Anne froze, her face contorted as she struggled with how to respond to her sudden influx of tears. "I'm sorry, you know I'm not good with…all of this—" awkwardly, she pat Tsuna's hand, "—you're still be at ballet though, right? You just won't be on the ice?"

Tsuna shrugged, "seems like," she glanced behind her at the two figures caught in what looked like a heated discussion. From where she stood, despite the entire rink separating them she and everyone else could tell that neither were particularly happy with the other.

In a flurry of ice shavings, Haley came to a stop next to Anne. "So, is coach Mo going to tell your federation, or are you?"

"What?"

"Coach Moravec calls all our federations monthly and tells them about our preparations. Didn't you know that? The U.S has a system in place that if your injured, but you've proven yourself in the previous year's worlds, there's a possibility for a committee to set aside a place for the skater on the Olympic team. 'Course that's providing you can show you'll be ready in time." Haley fiddled with her fingers, a look of contemplation on her face. "I mean, it's happened before… right? … Anne? Aren't I right? In years past? With previous Olympic team members. They had a verification process for them separate from Nationals a few weeks before the Olympics and if they were ready, they got the spot."

Tsuna shook her head, ending the conversation. "There is no system like that in Japan, if you don't compete in nationals there's no chance at making the Olympic team." She slid her second guard on and stepped completely off the ice. "Don't look like that Anne. It's not like I died. I'm not out just yet; just you watch, I'll be back better than ever."

"Of course," said Anne, as she leaned across the boards and pulled Tsuna into a tight hug. "I have no doubt, all three of us will meet in the free skate. Oh, geez… I'm getting your snot on me; gross. Haley, are you just going to stand there, get in here and join this hug. Snot for all! Am I right?"

"Please—" Haley rolled her eyes, "—I think we all know I'm never going to do that."

"Sometimes I forget despite how you try to disguise it, you're just like coach Mo, un-touchy and un-feely!" Anne stuck her tongue out, blowing a raspberry at Haley's retreating figure. "I swear she still thinks the world revolves around the stick up her ass. Just cause she's twenty-one, doesn't live with her parents and has a few international titles doesn't mean she's better than us."

"Anne, come on; don't. you'll only make her mad, and the rest of your practice will be he—"

"—Anne! If you're not practicing, get off the ice!" Moravec's yell broke through the serene quiet of the rink, breaking the meditative swishing of Haley's blades on the glass-like ice. "Anne!"

Anne tugged her closer. "Does he look mad?"

His arms tightly crossed and Nilton nowhere in sight, the old Russian looked the farthest thing from happy. "Well he might have killed the physical therapist, so no... I don't think he looks happy. Good luck!"

Anne tightened her hold for just a moment then stepped back flashing her a victory sign. "Hurry back okay, it's not the same here with just Mr. and Mrs. Grumpy."

Tsuna flashed her own victory sign, "Promise!"

_2/10/13_

_25 minutes stretching_

_53 minutes high paced elliptical_

_6 laps around the rink_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to 'wrackspurtsnargles' for helping beta this chapter. If you have the chance you should check out her work 'Breathing', it's really engaging and good, I'd totally recommend it!


	2. Part One: Chapter Two

"Final Set, Asato to serve."

_Flat serve down the center._

Souji met the powerfully sent ball with a forehand. Catching it on his racket, reducing its momentum, adding control and spin before sending it back on a high diagonal towards the left-hand corner of the court.

Action, reaction; stillness had never and would never be a known quantity on a tennis court.

Asato countered. He didn't bother targeting the open court, instead, sending the ball straight and deep into Souji's court. He attacked with a fast, low ball meant to pass or throw Souji off balance.

Souji moved forward meeting Asato's counter with a two-handed backhand of his own, catching and killing the momentum they'd each added to the ball before sending it shallow back to the opponent's court.

Once, twice, the ball rolled to a stop just past the net.

"15-love!" called the umpire.

"Yes." Souji pushed sweat-soaked hair from his forehead. He'd played that nicely, keeping Asato in the corner, glued to the baseline as he opened up the rest of the court. God— Souji bounced on the balls of his feet— he loved playing a drop shot as a finisher. Hitting his opponent when they least expected it. Watching their face drop as they ran forward, racket outstretched, slowly realizing that they had no chance to return the ball. It was all the more fun since Asato's natural inclination was to stick to the baseline, keeping up a line of defense, not allowing a single ball past him.

This entire match, he'd forced Asato to play outside his comfort zone, bringing him up the court and away from the baseline. From the very beginning, he'd dictated all aspects of the game.

A casual observer could recognize that Asato was good; very good. Another player in Souji's age group would find the defensive wall Asato had constructed to be impenetrable. Two, even one year previously, Souji himself would have struggled and most likely failed to break through that wall. This game was a testament to what a difference a year makes.

Souji took a deep breath, centering himself. Two more points until match point, three more for the set; the excitement was building. He set himself in the corner, bouncing on the balls of his feet waiting for Asato's serve.

_Wide slice. The ball struck the outside line and curved out._

Souji's racket just barely caught it. With the slightest of touches, the ball shot diagonally across the court, making a beeline back to Asato. A weak return that just barely stayed within the white lines, Souji could feel the openings created in his game as a result of the weak return.

Asato easily met his return, and sent it back, flat and straight into the open court.

"Fifteen all."

"Shit." He'd rushed, had thought too far ahead, and had lost the point.

Tightening his grip on the racket, Souji could feel the layers of tape he'd wrapped around the handle that morning, compress, giving way as his fingers tightened. There was nothing worse than seeing the ball fly past him. Losing even a point, no matter how meaningless it might be to the final score, rankled him.

"Fifteen seconds."

He could feel the umpire's stare from across the court. Souji turned and took a second-deep breath before setting himself in the receiving corner, returning to the familiar bounce as he readied himself for Asato's serve. He'd allowed himself the time needed to prepare; he wouldn't allow another ball past him.

·‡·

"Game, set, and match. Winner Ike Souji. Final score 6-0, 6-0."

The murmurs of the crowd drifted over the court; he could hear some snippets, those calling out to them, telling both Asato and himself just how good and entertaining the match had been, showing their appreciation for the level of hard work. There were other comments as well, from where he stood, he could hear snippets:

"Amazing—"

"He's unbelievable… just fifty-three minutes…"

"Who'd have thought Ike-kun would bagel Asato-kun…"

"He's left his entire age group in the dust…"

"—maybe? Egawa Takuma might still be a challenge?"

Souji closed his eyes, breathing deeply, forcing air into his lungs. He appreciated the praise and acknowledgment, especially after years of sitting in the background watching his peers like Takuma and Ogata succeed. For years the two had snapped up titles from every tournament entered, making a name as geniuses at the forefront of the generation. They had been in his sights since he'd started the sport, he'd watched them and the praise they'd received. In all honesty, he'd wanted to be them.

He let his neck relax and his head fall back just slightly, the wind felt good, drying and cooling his skin from the sweat that had accumulated on the surface. Why did he feel so unfulfilled? The match had concluded, he'd won, and yet something was off, something that he just couldn't put his finger on.

Asato cleared his throat, breaking his thought process, and shaking him out of his reverie, "good game, Ike-kun."

"Ah, good game." Pasting a smile on his face, Souji shook his head, ridding himself of the disconcerting feeling, and the frustration from not knowing where it came from. The match was over, there'd be ample enough time to take stock of everything at a later point of time. He smiled, taking Asato's hand. "It was fun Asato-san, your serve is as powerful as always. Next time we play, I'll get you back for the points you scored on me."

Asato, slapped him gently between his shoulder blades, his seventeen-year-old frame towering over Ike's fourteen-year-old one. "Geez, you won and you're still complaining about the points you didn't get. Don't joke. Please, like I'd let you do that; next time I'll win. Besides, if everything goes right, I'll be going pro next year, so there's no way I'd let you get another win from me."

His head snapped back; attention caught by that special word.

Pro; the aspiration of so many young tennis players, it was an objective, however, that so few could reach. To be able to devote one's entire life to the sport, and make a living, it was a dream, so few achieved. Somewhere along the way it had become his dream as well. Ever since Natsu had introduced him to the sport, tennis had hooked him around its little finger. He loved every aspect, the matches, the rush of chasing after the ball, slamming it past his opponent, watching their faces as the match progressed and little after little it became more one-sided as he crushed each part of their game.

He'd always loved to win, but as the years had passed, he'd found that he hated to lose even more. He knew he was good, good enough that this past year he hadn't lost a single match, but it wasn't enough. With age came wisdom, and with each day that passed, he was slowly realizing that however much he loved it, winning was only satisfying if there was a cost attached.

·‡·

He deftly navigated through the groups of bystanders, before easily finding the contingent from the Southern Tennis Club. With their t-shirts emblazoned with STC and the wide berth the rest of the tournament onlookers gave them, they were impossible to miss. Souji stood on his tiptoes and slung his arm around Egawa Takuma's shoulders. He grinned, feeling Takuma stiffen at the unexpected contact. The taller boy's body vibrated for just a moment as his inclinations to either throw off Souji's arm or yell at him battled within himself.

Before Takuma could decide, Souji removed his arm and moved past the steadily reddening boy, coming to a stop in front of the patriarch of STC, the stern-dog-faced loveable head coach, "Coach Miura! What'd you think?"

Coach Miura paused mid-conversation and turned, ruffling Souji's dark brown hair in the process. "I swear, zero decorum—" he shook his head before waving to the coach he'd been having a conversation, "—You did well. I saw definite improvements in your baseline play, and your forehand consistency is beginning to show—"

"Coach Miura—" Misaki poked Souji's side before dancing away, "—don't jerk him along. Tell him how proud you are of him; I mean we all heard you, it's not exactly a secret." She grinned, as she and the rest of the group surrounding them waited for coach Miura to speak.

As the head coach of the wildly successful STC with a contingent of other coaches under him and far too many young impressionable tennis players looking up to him, it wasn't very often that Souji saw coach Miura show an expression other than annoyance or exasperation. For some reason whenever coach Miura spoke to him his face took on a strange pinched look.

Souji bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, "So… Coach Miura?" His grin widened, "are you going to tell me how awesome I am?"

"Ike…" exasperated, coach Miura sighed and shook his head; wearing an expression that was all too familiar.

"Yes?" Souji fiddled with his tennis bag, waiting for whatever validation coach Miura might give him, a smile poking its needy head. Even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't have suppressed it. Out of the corner of his eye, Takuma shook his head and walked back towards center court. The other had evidently had enough of the proceedings.

"I don't think it needs to be said that you did very well today. Do you _really_ need _me_ to extol your virtues?" Coach Miura paused, waiting for Souji's response. "However, there are a few things that I think we'll need to talk about, in _private_ , so I think it best that we schedule a time to meet." Like a balloon that suddenly sprung a leak, the anticipatory air surrounding them created by the expectant members of the Southern Tennis Club quickly lost its helium. They'd waited for coach Miura's patented Souji response, but all they'd received was the long drawn out sigh and the shake of his head, a letdown if there was one.

"But, before that, go… Hurry after Takuma, as you both need to get ready for the medal ceremony. It'll be good to see two STC members on the podium. I'll expect you at STC the day after tomorrow for practice and we'll have a talk about the matches and what's next."

Coach Miura gently turned Souji around; guiding him and the rest of the milling club members towards the medal ceremony and court the tournament officials had designated for the event. "No matter how far you all made it this tournament, you all did very well." He raised his voice, addressing the entirety of the club members. "The STC staff, myself included, is very happy with today's results…"

Souji nodded, tuning out the rest of coach Miura's pep talk, his thoughts consumed with the next few tournaments marked into his schedule. Just a year ago, the mere mention of the Kanto tournament or even the following nationals would have sent shivers of excitement down his spine. Kanto, as the next tier match after Kanagawa, brought together the best players in the region. With each participant hoping to play for not only a spot at nationals but a seeded position amongst the nation's best, each subsequent tournament would be a fierce battle amongst the best of his age group. It was everything he desired and yet the thought of once again playing through the Japanese tournament cycle filled him with pure exhaustion.

Maybe, he was getting sick?

Normally, after matches, he loved talking about the competition, going over every detail, talking with coach Miura about just what had gone wrong. Why was it that today the motivation that normally overflowed was so grossly absent?

The crowd parted before him, their whispers paving his way. It was no secret that the onlookers expected varying levels of greatness from Kanagawa's top four, whether it be in the upcoming national tournaments or for the more elder of the four and his foray into the international tennis world. For all intense and purposes, they were the future of Japanese tennis.

Souji nudged Takuma with his elbow and leaned against the other, "sad that we didn't get to play each other…isn't it?"

Takuma grunted and moved away; deftly placing Asato as a barrier between himself and Souji.

He grinned and turned back towards the waiting crowd. Nothing had changed, Takuma's response was as expected; despite the years he'd known Takuma, he couldn't remember a time that they hadn't been like oil and water. Though their relationship was cordial and filled with grudging respect, neither could help throwing the occasional small dig when possible, it was just far too good pass up. Truthfully, if not for the common link that went by the name of Natsu Takasaki, he doubted they'd even have a peaceable conversation between them.

His musings were broken as the crowd, in response to the gathering of the tournament officials, fell quiet, excitement tinged the air. Souji shifted back and forth, hoping to pick up some of the crowd's excitement, this wasn't the first time he'd finished in the top four, but it was the first time the journey to that position hadn't excited him.

·‡·

He glanced to the side, staring just past Asato's slouched figure, taking in Takuma's expression. It was impossible to miss the other's sour expression. It'd be so easy to needle the older boy, if there was one thing Souji had learned after years of knowing Takuma, it was the buttons to push that would set him off. Reluctantly he pressed down the urge. Messing with Takuma was addicting, it wasn't his fault, it was just that Egawa Takuma made such an easy target.

Glancing sideways, he eyed the other top three finishers, feeling a grin threaten to split his face as he caught Takuma's glare. What more could he say; oil and water.

·‡·

Standing in the crowd, a frown slowly growing on his face, coach Miura crossed his arms. "Dear God, Ike, resist the urge," he mumbled under his breath.

·‡·

Souji turned his attention back to the emphatically gesticulating official. There'd be time. Although they hadn't had the chance in this tournament, it was a given that they'd play each other again. Whether it be Kanto, All-Japan Junior, or an unsanctioned match on one of the STC courts, their rackets would match at some point. There was no use further riling him up at this moment by grinning in Takuma's face. Though… he pondered… maybe it wouldn't hurt to play with Takuma just a little after the ceremony had concluded, it really was entertaining to watch him turn red when he talked to Natsu.

The official moved to stand in front of him, the fake metal disc held between the middle-aged man's hands.

He bent forward.

"And finally, to Ike Souji, I award first place in the Kanagawa Prefecture tournament." The official placed the plastic medal around his neck and offered him a smile before turning. "Please go ahead and congratulate all four finalists, and please join me on cheering them as well as all the other participants that will continue on, and compete in the Kanto tournament in a month's time."

Souji raised his hands and excitedly waved to the crowd, basking in their warmth and appreciation. Moments like these he'd gladly relive forever.

·‡·

"Congratulations Sou-chan."

He stumbled back; arms full of an excitedly bouncing Natsu.

"You were amazing against Asato-san, you're practically guaranteed as the number one seed in Kanto now," she gushed, using his shoulders as an unofficial springboard.

"He wasn't that amazing." Takuma loomed behind them; his expression rearranged into a dark, unapproachable glower. The older boy stared down at them, deep grooves cut into his forehead.

Releasing his shoulders, Natsu took Takuma's hands and swung them back and forth. "Takuma-kun, you should be nicer to Sou-chan since you're both friends—"

Stifling a laugh, Souji watched as Takuma's ears and face flashed an ugly shade of puce, "—we're not friends like I could ever be _his_ friend. We're rivals."

She frowned and pulled Takuma closer to the two of them. "Rivals can be friends… Right, Sou-chan? Takuma-kun's your friend?"

Natsu's innocent question had opened two paths for him. He could choose to either take Natsu's innocent statement and overlook it, or he could run with it, just to see Takuma's expression. "We're more than friends, we're brothers—" he draped his arm around Takuma's shoulder, "—bonded in blood sweat and tears. He would die for me, I for him—" he could feel his laughter bubbling up. If he could just hold it in for a moment longer, push Takuma just an inch more, they all might see the rare sight of Takuma's head exploding. "—Without Takuma- _chan_ —"

Takuma shrugged out from under his arm, elbowing him in his ribs before shouldering his tennis bag in one motion. "—get off me Ike, _God_ , you're so annoying!" He hurried off in the opposite direction, his face steadily deepening to a deeper color of red.

"A-ha-ha-ha! Natsu did you see his face? That was hilarious, I thought he was going to blow." He dissolved into another fit of spontaneous laughter, as the image of Takuma's face once more flashed through his mind.

"Oh… Sou-chan—" she let out an exasperated sigh, "—you really shouldn't push him like that." She grabbed his hand, pulling him away from the tennis courts and the last of the spectators still milling around. "C'mon. My dad said that after the tournament he'd treat us to a celebration dinner, hot pot, and barbeque."

"That sounds nice."

They walked quietly, Natsu letting him set a slow meandering pace, to the restaurant. It was almost possible to forget the light metal was hung around his neck. If not for the glint of the setting sun, he could have easily forgotten the achievement hanging off his neck. Instead, his thoughts were consumed not with the award, but the final win that had granted it to him and the ease that it had come to him. "…Hey Natsu, what'd you think about today's match."

"Eh? I told you before, that you were awesome. In the second set you barely let Asato-san get a point, and he's probably going pro after high school." Natsu tightened her grip, gently squeezing their intertwined fingers. "You know you're incredible Sou-chan. You don't need me to tell you, you've gotten really good."

He hummed. She was right, he didn't need her to tell him, he had enough confidence without asking for anyone else's input. Still, that wasn't what he'd wanted.

His win today, guaranteed him a top seed in the Kanto tournament in a month; there, he'd be able to face even more opponents comparable to Asato, or Takuma.

Stumbling slightly, he blinked dumbfounded, struck with a moment of intense clarity. That was the problem; for all that he loved tennis, and the intense struggles that the matches afforded him, the most recent match against Asato hadn't provided him that struggle. Asato-san hadn't held a single service game for the entirety of both sets. As Natsu had pointed out, 'he'd played incredibly', the second set had lasted a total of twenty-four minutes. It'd barely been a challenge.

With a tight grip, Natsu grabbed his hand; pulling him faster down the paved pathway, leaving him no choice but to follow. He could feel his breath quicken, as his mind dragged unwillingly behind them as his lungs struggled to force unneeded air into his extremities. Perhaps it was a badly conceived metaphor, but for the first time ever he wanted to dislodge his hand and step off the sidewalk. Halfheartedly Souji allowed himself to be pulled.

·‡·

His feet pounded against the pavement. An even cadence in time with his breath, with each step, he breathed three seconds in, three seconds out, embracing each second to himself as a time of self-exploration. It was a time of relaxation and meditation, a time that was solely his own.

Despite the brisk early morning air, he could feel droplets of sweat slowly making their way down his forehead, coating his neck and back, creating an unbreakable bond between his skin and his shirt. On quick feet, he passed by Minamoto's bread shop and Seto's flower shop, taking in the smells of freshly baked bread and cut flowers lingering in the still morning air.

Banned from STC, along with everyone else who'd played in the final days of the prefecture tournament. He'd woken that morning feeling particularly fidgety, perhaps because he'd been unable to shake the unsettling feeling that had settled upon him after yesterday's tournament.

Souji pushed harder, increasing the pace from the rather slow eight-minute mile to a quicker seven-minute pace.

"Morning Ike-kun!" He waved to the store owner, calling out a brief greeting as he passed.

The thought had briefly crossed his mind to spend the day with his brother watching him workout and spar at the MMA gym across the city. It had long since been their tradition, even before his life had been utterly consumed tennis, to go with Shiro to his gym. He'd happily trail after Shiro, willing to sit and watch his older brother spar. For years he'd sat in the corner for hours on end without a modicum of impatience, watching Shiro practice the same jab, uppercut, block over and over. It had over the years become a place of refuge, today however he had too much energy.

Once again, Souji upped the pace.

Reaching the outskirts of the small city he finally slowed to a jog, allowing his body to rest and regain equilibrium after the oxygen deficit he'd placed it under. He blew out a long hot breath, after thirteen and a half miles, city streets that had been littered with an abundance of shops and apartment buildings had all petered out. Replaced instead with the idyllic backdrop of nature.

Souji paused, taking a moment to catch his breath before tackling the short climb. It was a small hill relative to the other's he'd just run, but it had always served as a marker for the end of the familiar run.

With a single tree growing from the top. It was relatively innocuous. Most traveling in and out of the city would never think to look twice at the small overgrown hill overlooking the small town of Aikawa. But for him, over the years, this place had become somewhat hallowed ground. It was here so many years before that he'd found his purpose, committed himself, promised himself that he'd walk the path to become a pro.

Five years had since passed, one thousand eight hundred and twenty-five days but he hadn't allowed himself to forget. Each time he went running, the climb up the hill reminded himself of his promise, reaffirming his commitment. Souji stopped, resting his hand on the bark of the solitary tree. It was here under the pink cherry blossoms that he allowed himself to think about his future in its entirety.

Asato was easily one of the best in the prefecture and the Kanto region, Takuma as well was regularly among the nation's best. They were his peers, and yet fighting them no longer excited him. It had become too easy to spot their weakness, Takuma's reliance on serve and volley, Asato's inability to leave the baseline, the list continued.

He fisted a handful of grass, placing just enough tension on the strands to put them under a modicum of stress but not enough to rip them from the earth.

It wasn't to say that he was without weakness, Coach Miura was right, there were times that his reactions proved insufficient during serve and volley, his serve still far too susceptible to a good returner. He hadn't yet broken himself of the habit of pulling or doubting his backhand. And still, despite his faults, he won. Despite glaring weaknesses that seemed as clear as day, his opponents couldn't attack them. For years it had been Takuma touted as a prodigy among prodigies, Asato who would likely go pro, Ogata whose touch on his racket was like an extension of his own arm. He had looked up to them all and yet he was better than each one.

He froze, feeling the rough bark on his back. An unyielding force that even with his whole weight leaned against it refused to bend.

That's what it was; matches that had so excited him just two years ago no longer held the same thrill. He'd become stronger, matches that might have bent or broken him now only buffeted against him, barely swaying branches that would have previously snapped.

He wanted a stronger gale, a greater force to test himself with.

Souji looked down the hill, staring at the small people just going about their day, this was his home. If he squinted, in the distance he could just about make out STC and its wide expanse of dark green courts. It was Sunday, the indoor courts would be more crowded than usual with members from all six courts. Hase, Yukichi, Misaki, Yabe; likely they were all there. They'd felt the gap before he had. The growing divide between them and the canyon separating them. Yukichi had begun to call him 'master', he'd felt their eyes on his back, constantly watching him. Even when they'd took one step forward, he had already taken three.

It wasn't enough. Souji looked up at the hundreds if not thousands of flowers swaying peacefully just above him. There were more tennis players in the world than just STC's A court, more tennis players than the hundreds that would come together for All-Japan Junior.

Relaxing his hold on the grass, he stared down at the light green grass stains staining the skin under his nails. He'd always known that STC wouldn't be the final destination. Since the first time he'd stood on top of the hill and looked down on the city, he'd known that the path of a professional athlete would lead him far from this idyllic hill. He loved his home, loved Kanagawa, but he couldn't allow himself to by stymied by the city's familiar borders. If staying meant he stopped his growth he'd gladly uproot himself and leave.

·‡·

The front door swung shut behind him with a satisfying thud. "I'm home."

He was greeted with a sharp clang followed by a muffled curse. "Welcome home Souji! You were gone for a while. How was the run?" His mother, Hatomi Ike, her long black hair tied back in a low bun, poked her head out from the kitchen. "I hope you were able to figure out what was bothering you… oh… also, I cut up an apple and a melon so sit down and eat before you take your shower."

She puttered around the brightly lit, white-walled kitchen, making the both of them tea while simultaneously beginning dinner. She wouldn't ask, she never did. His mother had always been good at letting Shiro and himself come to their own conclusions and make their own mistakes. "Shiro won't be home until late. He called… said that since the gym is hosting a tournament in two weeks' time, he wants to get in a few more hours practice." She poured a small amount of the hot water into the powdered matcha, mixing it with practiced motions to form a dark green paste.

"When will dad be back?"

She glanced at him a slight frown on her face. "Soon." She passed him his cup of tea, staring at him a moment too long before turning. "I always say your father works himself too hard—" she shook her head, a gentle smile on her face, "—going into his office on a Sunday, just to go over a client's paperwork." Stirring the slowly simmering curry she glanced back at him for a second, before once more turning back around. "I guess that's where you boys get your ability from. Neither of you knows when to stop, both of you intent on training yourself to the ground— I'm glad—" she paused and turned to offer him a wide watery smile, "—I never have to worry that my boys are getting into something they shouldn't. Sometimes it makes me wish for the times that you weren't so self-sufficient."

He could feel it; like balancing on the edge of a razor, the blade oscillating back and forth, threatening to deposit him on the hard ground on either side. Frankly, he didn't know which side was worse, avoiding the truth or facing it head-on.

Souji rolled the small melon balls back and forth across the small plate. Moving two at a time, watching them race each other as they skidded across the wet plate. Well, there was one sure way to pick a winner, he popped one of them into his mouth.

"Souji—" she sat in the chair opposite him, hands cupping her steaming tea, "—you know you can tell me anything… right?"

He froze, staring at the solitary melon on his plate. It seemed that for the first time ever she was going to push. Avoid or face? He shifted uncomfortably, feeling the knife-edge bend forward, digging painfully into his heels, urging him forward. It had never been in his nature to avoid.

Hatomi's head cocked to the side, "Sou—"

"—I want to leave," scrunching his eyes, he cursed at his abruptness before straightening in his seat. This was his choice and his path; he couldn't show any fear now. He stared directly in her eyes. It seemed after all the time spent wavering, he'd found his feet on the ground. Now it was up to him to see just what this side would hold. "… I want to go to America. There are more opponents, the level of tennis is higher, the instruction is better. There are schools—" he rushed to continue, "— in America. It's nothing like anything we have here—" he grinned excited at the thought and the possibilities, "—entire schools that focus on creating the best athletes possible…" he petered off.

She hadn't moved since he'd started talking, frankly, he wasn't sure if she was currently breathing. Souji wrapped his fingers around the tops of the chair's legs, fighting the urge to poke her just to confirm that he hadn't offed his mother. That would be as she put it, 'entirely inappropriate'.

She blinked; another long torturously slow blink and stood. Breaking his internal monologue and stopping the impulse in its tracks.

"…I don't want to just be better… when I know I can be great," he said." but I don't think I can be great _here_ ; at least not without proper challengers."

She sighed, taking her time to reply, her every action measured and controlled. He watched her place the stainless-steel top back on the simmering curry. With her back turned from him he couldn't see her current expression. "The best, huh?"

"Yea… in the world," he said. "That's what I want." Who wanted to be mediocre, who dreamed of existing in the middle of the pack?

"It's funny your father and I knew this day was coming since Natsu-chan first gave you a racket and we saw you play in your first match."

He remembered that match, Takuma had easily handed him his ass, he distinctly remembered halfway through the match feeling like they hadn't even been playing the same game. "That's when you knew?" Souji frowned, if anything that should have reinforced that he should have stayed in soccer or continued with anything else.

She nodded, "mm-hmm. You were so disappointed and mad. I remember turning to your father and saying, 'that loss right there meant something. That years from now we'd remember that match. Each month following it we've put aside a little aside for you and your brother."

"Something other than College?"

She returned to her seat and her tea. "Yes, separate from your college fund. Just a little nest egg, tucked away. In the eventuality that either of you decided to go a non-traditional route of you with tennis or Shiro with MMA. I honestly didn't think the first of my boys to use it would be my little Souji." Her hands found his before traveling up and cupping his cheeks, turning his face to her own. "I've had years, and somehow I thought I'd be more prepared, but I guess you never really are..."

"Sorry..."

She shook her head. "Never apologize for talent. You think I'd ever hold you back just because I love having you here. What a poor mother that'd make me." Her thumbs wiped away his tears. "I'm so immensely proud of you. Proud of the boy I saw grow up in front of my eyes and the man I see you turning into. For you to come to me with a clear picture of what you want; especially at your age—" she wiped away her tears and smiled. "I don't think I knew what I wanted until at least mid-twenties. Still, if this is what you've decided, I want you to know that your father and I will do everything we can to help you." She squeezed his hands before offering him a watery smile. "Although that doesn't mean that we'll hold your hand and guide you step by step, especially since you'll be in America. I want you to talk to Coach Miura and ask him what the steps are for going abroad."

Petulantly he crossed his arms. "I'm not a grown-up just yet. And even when I am, I'll still need your help…"

"And I'll always give it. You should know, however, since you're deadest on moving to another country, that you won't have your father or I to rely on, we'll be an ocean away—"

"—I'm home," his father called, the clatter as he discarded his shoes and briefcase filling the apartment.

"Welcome home, Souji and I are in the kitchen talking, come join us."

"Just wait—" he puffed out his chest, filled with confidence "—give me a year." Souji held up his finger. "You'll see. One year and I'll take over America."

"Eh? If I'd known you and Souji would be talking about taking over a nation I'd have come home a little sooner and worn better shoes." His father bent to kiss Souji's mother's forehead.

At just a little over six foot his father, Shinji Ike towered over both him and his mother. The grey suit Shinji wore just hinted at the broad form hid underneath layers of business dress. "So? World dominatio— Hatomi? What's wrong, what's with the long faces? Did you not want to include me in the planning, I promise there's always room for…" He paused cueing in on their lack of reaction.

Hatomi turned away exasperation written over her face, "sometimes I wonder where the boys get their awful sense of humor and timing and then you say something to remind me. Sit. Souji has something he wants to tell you."

He straightened in his chair, noting the lessening pressure from his lungs. He was no longer bound to the garden path.

·‡·

STC's expanse of outdoor tennis courts laid before him, an unending sea of green. With multiple outdoor courts, from a bird's eyes view the club closely resembled an organized green honeycomb.

Souji paused for just a moment could still remember the first time he'd seen STC, his utter amazement as Natsu had shown him around the club that had monopolized so much of her time.

"Sou-chan! Sou-chan!?" Natsu bounded up behind him, her long light brown hair already in a high ponytail and ready for practice. "You left so quickly after the last bell, just cause the school year is almost over doesn't mean you can just gallivant off. We were going to walk together, remember." She poked him on his shoulder, further emphasizing each word.

"As if I could ever forget about you," he raised his voice, putting his next few sentences to a childhood diddy. "You're in my dreams Natsu-chan, you and I against the world, forever until—"

"—God, Ike. Are you ever not annoying?" Takuma pushed past them, his tennis bag hitting Souji in the face as he did. "No one, especially me should ever have to hear you sing."

"Eh, I thought it was nice, Sou-chan has a nice voice."

"Aha-ha-ha, hear that Takuma-san, Natsu likes my voice."

"She'd be the only one," Takuma sprinted off in the direction of the indoor courts, whatever else he'd yelled lost to the wind.

Souji watched him go, not bothering to stifle his laughter.

"You should be nicer to Takuma-kun," said Natsu.

"Eh? Nicer? Am I not nice?"

She smacked his arm, throwing him just enough off balance that he had to windmill his arms to keep upright. "You don't even realize what you're doing, do you?"

"Eh?"

She threw up her hands, "Absolutely impossible. You don't even notice, how after you tell your joke, Takuma never laughs." She shook her head, "one of these days you're gonna push Takuma too far and he's going to lose it— and I swear if you say 'eh' one more time."

"E— okay—" he ducked away from Natsu's lightly thrown punch, "—okay? I'll talk to him… sorry Natsu."

"Natsu-chan! Master!" Yukichi waved at them, spilling half of his water bottle in the process. "Congratulations on winning the tournament."

He shifted before awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. 'Master' was a new and rather uncomfortable development Yukichi had propagated in the past few months. Heralded by Souji's win just a few months ago in a minor regional tournament, Yukichi had taken the nickname to heart and had insisted on calling him by the moniker any chance he had. "Thanks, Yukichi-kun, and remember what we talked about? About not calling me master?" He could only hope that this time something would stick. "I saw your match against Iwasa-san."

Yukichi's eyes swelled with large, barely realistic tears, "Master Ike watched me? I didn't think you had the time! I wish I could have done better."

Souji shifted, uncomfortable with Yukichi's choice of words. He hadn't watched the entirety of Yukichi's match, but he had caught the conclusion. Yukichi's opponent Araya had been quite merciless against the STC member. "You've worked hard—" he shrugged, "—what more can you do." He stifled a grimace and looked away, doing his best to ignore the tear dripping down Yukichi's cheek. "I should go." Souji nodded towards Takuma, "I told Natsu I'd talk with Takuma-san."

Turning their attention to the slightly older boy knocking impossibly fast serves over court A's net, he patted Souji on the back, "Oh." Shivering, Yukichi inched away, "he looks like he's in a _great mood_ ; have fun."

·‡·

Souji could feel Natsu's expectations pushing him to apologize. Truthfully, it couldn't have been clearer if she had placed her hand on his back and pushed him across the consecutively laid courts.

Takuma grunted sending his serve whizzing over the net and smashing into the opposing court.

Souji paused, judging by the half-filled ball container and the ones rolling haphazardly, Takuma truly hadn't wasted any time before beginning his serve practice. He walked just behind Takuma and court A. "I'm sorry."

Takuma let out another grunt, the exertion evident as another ball tore through the air.

He couldn't be certain, but he was almost positive the second serve the other boy sent screeching across the net had been even faster than the first. He glanced over and caught Natsu's glance.

"Want to play a match?"

Takuma let a third ball rip.

They'd always communicated better through their matches. Even before middle school when Takuma had been leagues better than him, and their matches, little more than one-sided smash contests. He'd always come to understand Takuma just a little bit better by the time the last ball rolled to a stop.

A fourth ball zipped by.

He could make the bait just a bit more enticing. "Three-set-match?"

Takuma paused, a fifth ball in hand. His attention finally caught, he turned to him. "Fine. But don't expect me to hold back just because it isn't an official match. I'll crush you, Ike."

It was like Takuma had flipped a switch inside him. "Looking forward to it."

Without looking, Takuma held out his racket a hand covering the bottom. "Which?"

"Now?"

Takuma's glare could have shattered a block of ice.

"Fine. Top."

Taking his hand away, Takuma revealed the right side up 'P' on the bottom of his racket. "Your serve, I'll take this court."

Moments before a match begins there's an instance of calm; a held breath that lasts a few brief seconds, just until the first serve passes over the net. Souji loved that moment. It was like a switch within his mind flipped. Those brief seconds, for him, would carry through until the ball bounced its last and the match was called.

A small audience was beginning to grow, drawn to the match between Takuma and Souji like moths to a flame. He closed his eyes breathing in deep. The sounds around him faded to nothing more than a distant rumble, replaced instead with a meditative hum. He was ready.

The ball spun through the air, in a perfectly thrown arc that could easily be converted into an excellently delivered serve. He wouldn't have to pull or force the ball. The power would flow easily from him and would concentrate on the ball.

His racket swung through the air, in a perfect whip like moti—

"Ike! Egawa!"

The top of his racket smashed against the ball.

His perfect serve flew right into the net.

"Neither of you are playing a match right now!" called Coach Miura. His head and part of his shoulders poked through the blue canvas divider, giving all six courts a view of his dark scowl. "Neither of you are properly warmed up, you'd both end up pulling or straining something, and then I'd have to deal with the two of you moping around complaining. Go warm up!"

It was like coach Miura's shout had broken the spell, already, there were a few beginning to make their way around the outer perimeter of the six indoor tennis. Talking and joking in their small clusters they moved at a fast jog. The group gradually gained more members as the remaining crowd gathered around both Takuma and Souji slowly dispersed.

"Takuma-san—" Souji waved his racket above his head, joining the group of runners as they passed him by, "—next time, alright?"

Next to him, Natsu fell into rhythm, easily matching his pace with hers. "I thought you were going to talk to him, not challenge him to a match."

"Eh?" He shrugged. "With Takuma, it's easier to just play him. Let him get out his frustration and throw a few things at me. Besides, how could I turn down the opportunity to play a match against him?"

Slowly he pulled ahead, the pent-up excitement pushing him faster and driving him forward.

He didn't know where the new path would take him, nor what challenges he'd face along the way, but, if it meant he'd once again find the motivation and drive that had dulled the past year then he'd gladly embrace pushing through the unkempt undergrowth to brave a path less taken.

Who knew what the future might hold, or what his place might be within it, but whatever it might be, he refused to sit back and wait. Growth couldn't occur without action; it was incumbent on him to find the path to his next stage of evolution.


	3. Part One: Chapter Three

_14/10/13_

_Yesterday, for the first time in months, I landed a triple toe loop._

_I still only have doubles for the rest of the jumps, but at least my toe loop's back._

_Last night a new video from Vasilisa's coach surfaced. She has quads_ —Tsuna paused, her fingers lingering. How could anyone forget the way the world shook after that first competition.

Ripples disturbing the still bathwater. Dmitrievich's Skate America performance; had been monumental. The first woman to successfully land a quad in competition. Not only had the Russian done the impossible but she'd made it look so effortless. She'd spit in the face of every figure skating expert from the past fifty years that had proclaimed quads an impossibility for a woman to achieve.

It hadn't come as a complete shock.

Years before, during one of the many junior Grand Prix events they'd competed at, as their respective coaches had turned their attention elsewhere and the other skaters quietly left the ice, their practice finished. Vasilisa and herself had remained, talking about the jumps they'd tried in practices within the sanctity of the rink's walls that only their coaches could verify. At the time she'd thought nothing of it. Everyone tried jumps they'd never compete; quads, triple axels any number of other impossible skills, thrown and fallen on countless times behind the privacy of walls.

It was a whole other story to put them into an actual program.

Vasilisa had done the impossible.

 _At 'Skate America' Vasilisa had a quad lutz in her free skate. If she successfully adds another_ —once again her pen trailed off, stopped as if by some invisible wall. If the training video was to be believed Dmitrievich would have multiple quads in an already impossibly hard program.

Come February when the five rings finally interlaced, and the Olympic flame burned bright in the night sky Dmitrievich would be unbeatable. Yet that was the task she'd undertaken, what she'd promised. No one had ever said Olympic gold would be an easy feat.

_Anne swears Coach Moravec stopped breathing for a minute after she showed him the video._

_I think I stopped breathing for two._

_No one's unbeatable, but it'll take something spectacular._

"Darling… are you ready? Is your bag packed?"

Her mother stuck her head into their shared bedroom, hair still wet from her early morning shower, the ends curled slightly as water slowly dripped from them. Wearing a pair of colorfully decorated scrubs, she was already prepared for her morning shift.

"We need to be at the bus stop in twenty-three minutes, otherwise you'll be late for morning practice."

_I can be spectacular._

·‡·

A long low pneumatic hiss accompanied by an apathetic automated voice drifted out into the cool early morning air— "Baker's street and Alcott Boulevard,"—yellow bus headlights flickered once before shining with a renewed light, illuminating a short segment of the winding road in front of the idling vehicle.

With a short wave and heavy steps, Tsuna exited the light green bus leaving its air-conditioned comfort and entering the early-morning silent California void. If not for three blue-tinted lights in the distance, she might have convinced herself the city bus had dropped her off in the middle of nowhere. Unable to stop herself, Tsuna gave another much longer wave to the receding bus, the small gesture a tiny goodbye before the darkness swallowed the red headlights.

Every day but Sunday she walked the early morning streets of Santa Clarita, California, listening to the birds and the occasional early morning motorist break the tranquil silence. It was this time alone, with nothing to occupy her thoughts or distract that she abhorred. It was all it took, mere minutes in the darkness and her mind inevitably wandered to the dark places she'd happily spend all her energy avoiding.

She walked faster, counting her steps, refusing to allow her mind any leisure time.

Without thought she shifted her skate bag to a more comfortable position giving her back and shoulder just a little rest from the one-sided weight.

She'd buried Nilton's recommendations in the bottom of her bag, under the extra shoes, workout clothes, water bottles, skates, and everything else she routinely carried. When it came down to it, it was ultimately her and Coach Moravec's choice. For all that he'd prescribed, the exercise, extra rest, stretches, other factors had to be weighed. Like the impending competitions that ticked ever closer. Despite how fervently she wished for time to halt, again and again, it'd proved that it wasn't on her side. Perhaps, Nilton was right. If she continued to ignore the injury, it would negatively affect her future in the sport, stop her from enjoying however many years she should have.

Nevertheless, it was the present that worried her.

No matter what Nilton said, they all knew there were two options. Wait for the injury to heal or continue pushing forward. No matter what Nilton said, he didn't know her, didn't know what she'd willingly push through to reach her goal.

Besides, what Olympian didn't have aches and lingering pains? Wasn't it an athlete's duty to push their body to the limit, go beyond what everyone else believed possible?

Walking a bit faster, she was greeted with the acrid, slightly sweet scent of tobacco smoke floating through the still air. Over the past few months that strangely sweet, slightly burnt smell had become all too familiar, a constant companion of the rink's head coach. Unless Moravec was actively coaching, more often than not, the large Slavic man could reliably be found puffing on one of the many cigars he carried around with him. Steadily going through the tightly rolled tube tobacco, not caring how a cloud of thick smoke surrounded his head, giving advance warning of his coming.

Despite the weather hovering in the low seventies, Moravec was fully clothed in a heavier than appropriate wool and fur-lined coat. His head tilted back, resting against the red brick exterior. Tsuna waved to the quietly smoking Russian only to receive a grunt in return.

Each of his privately coached skaters knew the deal. If they saw him before their time, they were to ignore him. Until early morning privates officially began, he wasn't there. 5:30 am was, as Moravec put it, the earliest his brain could officially work; since it took at least an hour for the tobacco and black coffee to finally kick in, and until it did, he was an empty shell that was not yet alive.

The door to the rink swung open, spilling white light onto her feet and elongating her shadow.

It was like stepping into a different world, one that existed just parallel to the real one and the only intersection came when opening the building's doors. Here it was always winter, no matter the outside temperature, this space demanded that consistency.

She breathed deep, smelling the distinctive rink rubber and chemicals that brought back such poignant memories. She'd spent so much of her life in buildings just like 'Skate Club of Santa Clarita' they were all the same, no matter if there happened to be three rinks or just one, the constant stayed the same. The ice sparkled like minuscule diamonds had been caught in between the layers of hardened water.

With a deep sigh, she stepped forward, for better or worse, this was the place that she'd always felt most comfortable.

"5:30. Stretch, then get on the ice. We'll be using the harness for today's morning practice," called Coach Moravec, his voice echoing throughout the empty rink. As he spoke the rest of the rink's lights slowly turned on, breaking the enchantment the half-lit space had spun.

Every minute, every second ticked closer to doomsday. 5:31 already.

Skating across the glass-like ice, her straight black hair pulled into a tight ponytail, she pushed her muscles, warming and readying her limbs all the while flying around the rink. Feeling her skates' edges as they dug into the freshly laid ice; cutting through the temporary perfection all the while creating patterns only a bird's eye view could fully appreciate.

Tsuna closed her eyes and let muscle memory guide her.

Why was it impossible to fully appreciate the full picture from so close?

Coach Moravec stood in the center of the ice, ancient skates on, arms crossed, waiting for her to finish. Like a ballerina attached to the top of a music box, where she went he turned, forever watching, making mental notes of corrections he'd already noticed.

She came to a quick stop in front of him, spraying a minuscule amount of ice chips on the old beat-up leather of his black skates.

Moravec cleared his throat. "Four years ago, last year's junior routine would have placed you among the top ten in the senior world. Now, however—" he shook his head, "—Vasilisa Dmitrievich's proof that our world is moving on and moving fast. There's never any time to just breathe, it seems like just yesterday that the men were introducing triples into the sport and now… first the axel and now women with quads." He cursed under his breath in what sounded suspiciously like a combination of Russian and French. "There's a quad revolution coming and if we're not careful we'll get left behind. Left to fight for the last dregs, the unwanted child fighting for dinner table scraps— you understand? Yes?" He looked pointedly at her, pinning her under an unavoidable spotlight.

"I'll do it." She couldn't allow herself to lose to Dmitrievich, her pride hadn't allowed it when they were juniors, now at the next stage, it was still unacceptable. "I won't be left behind."

Moravec smiled, nodding, pleased with her response. "Good. That's exactly what I wanted to hear. You're young, you still have time to adapt to the times, to learn, and perfect new skills. But I'll warn you now, training will be hard. You have good enough technique for doubles and triples, quads however are a whole new beast. To land them without any outside help." He shook his head. "And with just three months, two if you count Nationals… It's a tall order. I'm sure there'll be days that you'll hate me … but I truly believe that with your technique and ability you have one of the best shots." He shook his finger, lambasting the world. "When I came to you, I told you I saw the 2018 ladies' singles gold medalist, you told me 2014. If I didn't believe it to be a possibility, I'd have told you then." He rested his hand on her shoulder. "The timeline has moved up but it hasn't changed a single thing."

·‡·

Her arms tucked tight against her chest. She pulled everything in, holding herself taught even as she twisted improbably fast through the air. With the harness on, she didn't have to worry about height, speed, gravity. All that was required of her was to feel the timing, get used to the extra rotation, and jump without fear.

Wildly pitching forward, her knee came dangerously close to slamming against the hard surface, adding yet another injury to the ever-growing list. It was only the safety net attached to her waist that stopped the less than graceful motion.

Having only a short amount of time, Moravec had made the executive decision to spend a majority of private practice on skills she'd never seriously attempted. With the belief that during group, the doubles and triples she'd had since her junior days could be worked without his full attention.

He shook his head, his lips pinched. "Go again. You're still approaching the toe loop as if you're planning for a triple. Opening far too early and beginning the twist far too late." He mimed the action, pulling his own arms in, and tight against his chest. "The mindset is different. You don't have time as you once did with your doubles or triples. The moment your toe pick leaves the ice you must twist; else you'll end up painting the ice with your face," He motioned with his hand. "Again."

Twist faster, jump higher. Simple in theory, and yet if every skater had the ability there'd be no use for competition and judges could just hand out medals to each participant.

Attached to the harness, she couldn't take her customary lap around the outside of the rink to decompress. It was impossible to escape for even just a moment to reconfigure her thoughts.

Her fingers squeezed her hips, her attention drawn to the messy tracks cut into the ice. Her quad or truly lack of one, stared her squarely in the face, mocking her.

"…when you dig your toe into the ice all your energy should be concentrated in your pick. Convert and trust yourself," Moravec said, before falling silent. Letting her visualize and work through the movement.

Envisioning herself gathering the necessary speed, before propelling into the air, her arms snapping in, her center of gravity remaining balanced and unaffected by the extra twist.

She'd gain nothing by standing around. Gaining speed through each back crossover, she focused on Moravec's words.

Convert and trust; she propelled herself into the air.

"Passable. You're still leagues away from landing it on your own. But if you continue to progress at the same rate, come February, perhaps there will be a second name associated with a quad." He nodded towards the large clock hung on the large off-white wall, "Haley's time begins in thirty minutes, so we'll finish this session with conditioning. There'll be no use of landing a quad, if you can't get through the rest of the program." The minute hand ticked one to the right, twenty-nine minutes.

Box jumps and weights.

She massaged the newly developing bruises on her feet, taking as much time as she dared to work out the steadily reddening marks on her ankles and the tops of her feet before pulling on her sneakers.

On their own, box jumps or weights were a tough workout. Together, however, would undoubtedly have her begging for a reprieve by the end. A direct result of the lingering injury, her atrophied muscles screamed at her for the torture she put them through. Still, if it could help her gain a few centimeters to her jump she'd do it until she bled.

·‡·

Her hands rested heavily against her shins. Their support just barely keeping her from collapsing to the ground. One more set and it'd take a lift to keep her upright She could feel the sweat dripping down her face, and onto her chin. If she looked close enough, she could see a small puddle of sweat pooling just beneath her. It seemed each second she remained bent over it grew in width and depth.

"Ten more seconds rest, then you have forty of continuous jumps."

Tsuna nodded, unable to raise her head long enough to give a proper response. A bead of sweat dripped into her right eye, stinging slightly.

With the seconds counting down she concentrated on forcing air into her lungs, doing her best to not throw up on Moravec's impeccably buffed leather shoes.

"It hurts, but if you give up now, you'll never win. You won't even make the team. What do you want?"

"Olympic Gold."

Moravec checked his watch. "Two seconds."

She jumped.

·‡·

"You don't look good."

"That's concerning since I think I feel worse than I look." She pried one of her eyes open just long enough to see Anne's face staring down at her from where she lay. The cold metal bleachers a welcome relief for her back, she'd laid there without moving since Coach Moravec had released her for the morning. "He'll yell at you if you spend too much time over here."

"My parents are paying him; he can yell all he wants; doesn't mean I have to jump on his command. Hey! If you blow off your tutor and wait here, I'll treat you to báhn mì and boba when I'm done."

It was an attractive offer, the promise of two of her favorite foods, high in carbs and sugars, in her current state the offer was certainly an attractive one. Still— "I shouldn't, Akeno-san would call my mom which would make her worry, and then when she found out nothing was wrong, she'd kill me." It'd be needlessly cruel of her to add to her mother's current stresses. If you want me to stay, you're going to have to do better than that."

"Would juicy gossip and the promise of a game of one-upmanship help?"

"Anne—"

"— I know, I know. But what if I told you I knew something about someone you know. A fellow skater you talk about all the time."

Her eyes closed. There were far too many Japanese skaters, for her to be able to guess. "You have my attention if the next two words are 'Hiroi Mura'… otherwise…"

"Nope, not her. He's on the men's side, trains in the U.S, incredibly shy, goes by the title 'Ace of Jap—"

"—Anne!" Moravec yelled, his voice cracking under the strain. "If you're not on the ice in thirty seconds, I'll make you do suicides for the entire practice." His patience obviously running thin. He'd begun to make his way slowly towards where they were sitting.

"Oh geez. The Russian General is calling! Think if I keep sitting here, I can make his entire face turn red?"

Tsuna opened her eyes, squinting into the light to ascertain just how serious Anne was. "He's not joking you know; you should go before he actually makes you do suicides for two hours."

Anne poked her cheek. "And there's an example of why he likes you so much more than me. You actually care what the great Andrei Moravec thinks, while I'm happy taking his advice with a grain of salt."

"Anne!"

"I'm coming, Jesus." She glanced behind her. "You'd think he'd be happy with me since I finally got my axel, but he's still so far up my—"

"Anne," she warned, as Coach Moravec leaned up against the boards his face pinched.

"Yes Anne, please finish your sentence. What exactly am I so far up?"

Tsuna closed her eyes praying to all the holy and unholy gods that Anne had enough sense not to finish the sentence.

They failed her.

When she left, Anne's harsh breathing could be heard throughout the rink, as coach Moravec had decided that suicides weren't enough and had mixed in a few power pulls as well for additional punishment.

·‡·

The city library was quiet, filled mainly with retired pensioners and drained librarians going about their daily duties, each day, tiredly reshelving the same books and movies, quietly cursing the unoriginality of their patrons. There was, however, one novel detail of note, for months now, tri-weekly the muted whisper of Japanese had reverberated throughout the stacks. The librarians and regulars knew them by now, as every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, Tsuna and the squat, rather pudgy Akeno had taken the same desk, sitting from 12-4 conversing quietly a stack of textbooks piled high around them.

"You're English is getting better, Tsuna-chan. You won't need me anymore with the rate you're going," Akeno-san said, scratching the stubble on his face. "This essay is nicely worded, and the grammar has gotten noticeably better… huh—" he paused staring at the last sentence, "—I'm impressed."

Today's lesson was no different; it was all she could do to nod her head and look like she was even somewhat listening to Akeno. Most days she could fight through the after-morning practice slump, but today's practice coupled with the rather warm library air. Exhaustion clung to her as closely as a barnacle to wet stone.

The twenty-four-year-old recent college grad turned the paper over, making several small corrections in intentionally bold letters.

A Japanese expatriate. Akeno had moved to the United States for college and remained in the states after graduating. Hoping to find a job in one chemistry lab or another, he'd yet to realize said dream, instead of having to settle for odds and ends. As the saying went, one man's misfortune is another man's opportunity. Akeno had been nothing short of a godsend for both Tsuna and her mother.

"Look here, you've missed the gerund, and the sentence after was written in the present tense despite past-tense being used for the rest of the paragraph. Still, there's been such an improvement—"

His words faded in and out of focus, and Tsuna's eyes grew heavier, her attention waning with each passing moment. It was a strange yet effective lullaby, lulling her to sleep despite her nails pinching into soft skin and the sneaker she had digging into her calf.

She couldn't fall asleep, not here, not in public. This time when her eyes closed and her mind drifted, the nails biting into her palms couldn't pull her back from the brink. Quietly, she slipped over the cliff, away from the warm yellow lights of the library, into the cold darkness of sleep.

_"Little bird you know you're more important than my cello right?"_

_"Yeah, of course." She beamed at him, wiggling her eyebrows. "I'm worth more than a sixty-thousand-dollar cello? You sure?"_

_He leaned over the center council and lightly flicked her nose. "I'd say you're worth at least sixty-two, maybe even sixty-three on a good day, when you're not—"_

_The bright white headlights were their only warning._

_Refracted in the window, for just a moment there was a rainbow, a vertical hodge-podge of bent colors._

" _Oh, shit!"_

_The world twisted, space distorting—_

"—Tsuna-chan? We only have a few more minutes before you have to go back, are you paying attention?"

She shook herself, forcing her eyes to refocus on the page, pulling herself out of the chasm she'd fallen into. "I'm awake, I'm listening." She didn't need to check a mirror to know a flush had risen and spread across her face.

Akeno pointed at her chin. "You're a bad liar, you've got a little drool right there. So, what did you dream about?"

She shook her head; it wasn't something she cared to talk or even think about. "Ice skating."

He shook his head. "I take it back, a _very_ bad liar. Still…you've been pushing yourself these past two weeks." He continued rushing over his words. "You can barely keep your eyes open, and even I can see just how gingerly you're sitting. Your back is hurting again, isn't it?" He didn't wait for a response; he likely didn't need to after seeing her face. "If you insist on burning the candle at both ends, I doubt it'll stay lit for very long. You need to remember to rest. Yes?"

She stared down at the essay laid out before her, ignoring his question. The conversation was so familiar it hurt. She couldn't, or was it, _wouldn't_ answer. "I'm fine, everything's fine. And my back's not hurting."

He shot her the same unimpressed look he'd given her before. "Fine. If that's the way we're going to play it. It's 4 o'clock, so we're done for the day. When you weren't sleeping, you did well." He ruffled her hair. "You'll have a test in a week in Geometry, so don't forget to study and memorize your proofs. Oh, and at some point, we'll have to book time at Santa Clarita Community College for the practical aspect of your bio test."

"I was sort of hoping you'd forget." Tsuna grinned, stuffing her books into a tiny unused section of her skate bag. Struggling with the zipper, she couldn't help but wonder whether this rather unremarkable bag had somehow broken the laws of physics. No matter the amount stuffed into its canvas walls, there was always an extra space. Always room for another book, sneaker, or another knick-knack. "If I'm not quick, the bus'll leave me."

"No need to rush—" Akeno helped her pull the zipper closed, "—I'll give you a ride back to the rink."

"In your car?" She hated how her voice shook just slightly at the end. She shouldn't be afraid, not of this. On a daily, for four to six hours each, and every day she attached boots with sharpened blades to her feet and defied the callings of gravity. A ride in a car shouldn't fill her with such dread.

"That's normally how it works. Though once an alternate form of transportation becomes available to the masses, I'll be sure to offer you a ride that way." He shouldered the bag. "… But for now, all I've got, is this car."

·‡·

Her hands were in constant motion, her fingernails picking at her ragged nail beds, her thumbs twisted in some strange stranglehold that had cut off the blood running to the tips. It'd been so long since she'd last rode in a car. Impassively she stared at the door, willing herself to open it.

"It's a car— not like I'm asking you to go base diving…" Akeno's head popped up just above the roof of the small four-door sedan. "If you don't want a ride. I can drop you off at the bus stop, I won't take you the entire way."

He looked so earnest; Tsuna rested her hand on the car door, watching, with wide eyes, the slight tremors that ran through it. There truly wasn't a bad bone in his body and yet, she couldn't accept. She couldn't get into his car, couldn't keep Akeno at any more than arm's length. "It's fine, I like walking." She hated it. "Besides, I've got a bus pass, and if I don't use it, it'd be like giving away money. Thank you though."

"I can't remember the last time anyone opted to take the bus… If you're sure…"

She nodded, taking her hand away from the car, feeling her heartbeat calm with each step she took and the increased distance she placed between herself and the hunk of metal. "I'm sure—" she shouldered her bag, and turned, waving to him in the process, "I'll see you Friday!"

"Take care of yourself."

·‡·

Unsurprisingly, Moravec was in just as foul a mood as she'd thought he'd be; and neither Anne's nor Haley's private practice sessions had done anything to assuage his fury.

Needless to say, warmup was an overly tense affair. Moravec nitpicked every little detail, the slightest flexed foot, the smallest cheat on the entry of a jump. Skating under a microscope, with the threat of a good raking over hot coals. Living up to his reputation, Coach Moravec missed nothing and found fault with everything.

By the time the twenty-minute long tense affair had come to an end, her nerves were as frayed as an exposed wire, its ends hanging, waiting to shock any unexpecting victim. She clasped her hands together, waiting with Anne and Haley for their assignments for the day.

"Jumps for Haley and Tsuna, step sequences and spins for Anne." Moravec glanced down at his clipboard, noting something on the papers. "Tsuna, you'll be working on your lutz, flip, and loop, Haley triples, toe loop, and axel. Anne—" he looked up, catching her expression, "—do you have a problem working on your step sequence? I assure you that there are other options available. If you'd like we can continue with the morning's practice."

Anne blanched and turned a worrying shade of grey. "It's fine. I'm good with today's practice."

Moravec nodded, satisfied with her response before motioning for them to begin the joint practice.

·‡·

A skater can tell a jump that is good from one that will end in disaster from the moment they take off. Skating on a blade that's a little more than a tenth of a centimeter has the tendency to make the athlete well aware of every little detail. A position of takeoff that deviates even just a few inches can dictate whether the skater will find themselves belly-flopping on ice or gracefully gliding away.

Her feet gave way, flying out from under her as she tumbled across the ice. Some might argue that it was better to over-rotate than under. With her back covered in ice chips and her forearms rubbed raw, she'd respectfully beg to differ. Neither was a preferable alternative.

She closed her eyes, letting herself rest on the cool ice. She could admit there was one thing her countless falls had been good for, at least she'd spent a good amount of time icing her back.

Haley skated past before looping back around. Her hair styled in an intricate collection of braids; one fell out of her bun as she came to a stop in front of Tsuna. "Are you hurt?"

"No; just taking a moment."

The other hummed to herself and skated away, gathering speed as her arms went into the familiar choreography from her short program just before the planned triple loop.

Tsuna watched Haley perform the jump. From her vantage point, on the ice, she could see more flaws than normal, though most of the normal ones were minuscule at best. What skater could boast a near-perfect grade of execution?

During the weeks off due to her doctor-imposed break, she'd watched a few performances by the older skater, videos from past competitions. World championships Haley had competed in before Tsuna had broken into the junior ranks, Grand Prix competitions from years prior. What Haley lacked in technical difficulty, she more than made up for in beauty. The simple yet perfect way she transitioned into and out of a jump, the almost flawless command she showed to the audience through each transition, each motion. She might never have the ability to throw a litany of triples in combination, but in artistry, and creativity she had proven over the years to be unmatched.

From her seat on the cold ice, Tsuna copied Haley's motions. In tandem, their fingers stretched out to the crowd.

It was a tale of two skaters.

Where Haley's motions were sure, drawing the imaginary crowd in, taking them into her confidence. Tsuna's were stilted, her movements only scratching the surface; creating a pale imitation, of the art playing in front of her.

Haley skidded out of a triple lutz, her right-hand skimming against the ice in her fight to keep her balance, biting out a curse as she righted herself.

"You're wasting your parent's money if you're going to insist on sitting there doing the Zamboni's job." Called Moravec, fixing her under his uncompromising stare. "You still have to show me at least three passable 'flips' before this session's over—with good entries… and Madam Zakharovna will have notes for you, especially after seeing those broken wrists you've been touting around." He nodded over his shoulder to the severe-looking woman sitting as far away from the rink's edge as physically possible, before turning his attention back to the last of the three skaters. "No! No jumps! I already told you, no jumps!"

Moravec turned, giving his full attention back to Anne as she gave up on trying to sneak in a jump and returned to practice a variation of her layback spin.

Haley finished another lap and came to a stop next to Tsuna, before turning her attention to the only skater currently practicing. They both watched as Anne's spin rapidly gained more momentum turning her into a blur of colors.

As they watched, her back arched and Anne's hands caught the blade of her raised back foot. Such a skill required a level of back flexibility that most would never possess and a near inhuman level of balance. Still, neither Tsuna nor Haley bat an eye. A spin such as the one Anne was currently performing was standard practice, especially in the upper levels of the skating world. In the junior ranks, almost every one of the competitors could perform the identical skill, while some had the capability to add even further difficulty. Tsuna frowned, as once again, Anne fell out of the skill.

"— She had a really shitty coach for juniors."

"What?"

Haley pointed to Anne. Directing their attention back to the other skater as her spin traveled across the ice; a clear indication that she'd lost control of the skill. "Her coach, before Moravec found her, only ever worked jumps with her. I think that's the reason Coach is so hard on her now. He sees everything she's missing, what she could be or could have been." Anne fell out of another spin and skidded across the ice.

"She has a triple axel," Tsuna said, turning to the older girl.

Haley gave an overly exaggerated shrug, "What does that matter if the rest of her sets a mess."

Skating had been and always would be a sport for youth. Those who had not yet had their bodies crushed under the weight of gravity and expectations. Anne, young though she was, was statistically at a disadvantage. Seventeen and missing fundamental aspects of a skater's proper foundation; she struggled with the basics. Failing skills that should come easy and excelling at those only a few in the world could perform.

There was potential there, Moravec wouldn't waste his time coaching a skater that didn't have potential, it was just buried a little deeper than others.

Tsuna stood in one corner of the ice; watching Moravec reposition Anne's arms for what must be the tenth or eleventh time this session. It wasn't for her to understand what he saw or why Moravec selected them.

Tsuna gathered speed in her approach, reaffirming her center in each crossover as she prepared herself for the lutz.

In one motion, her toe pick caught the ice and launched her into the air. The rotations too quick to count it was only her muscle memory that informed her when to open and prepare herself for the second jump in the combination.

She fell on the second.

"Tsuna, come here," called Moravec.

He still hadn't moved from his spot next to Anne, and apart from sparse words here and there, had devoted the majority of his time to the other skater.

With a pensive look on his face, Moravec watched her every move. Noting the new ice shavings melting on her side and the coating stuck to her gloves.

"You've watched Anne jump, yes? Then you've seen how boldly she throws herself into the movement. She trusts herself implicitly. At some point, during your recovery, you've forgotten this, you've allowed doubt to creep in. Forget the pain, it's temporary." He tapped his temple. "Understand that it's only in your mind, trust that you are ready and allow yourself to soar. Go."

Anne fell out of another messy layback attempt, colorful curses spilling from her lips.

Despite recent struggles, Moravec hadn't stopped believing in her; when had she stopped trusting herself? Her inability to get into a car— perhaps her back injury had not just taken time — perhaps it had also given her the gift of fear.

Tsuna readied herself for another attempt at one of her combination jumps, a double lutz into a double toe loop. Moravec was right, somewhere she'd lost the unabashed confidence she'd had in herself. She gained speed; her mind focused on everything but the jumps she had before her.

It was impossible to regain confidence just from willing such a thing. But who said she couldn't craft a charade of conviction? She might not believe in herself, but what stopped her from _pretending_ she did.

Her toe pick dug into the ice, and she threw herself without hesitation into the air.

Her landings wouldn't have been awarded full execution marks, the two jumps in the air certainly had their faults but she'd landed them. However, when her blades bit the ice, the ice conceded defeat.

"Yes!" she cried, hands raised, her heart beating impossibly fast. A victory no matter how small still put her just a little closer to success.

"Respectable. You showed nice height, but your rotations were still too slow," Moravec said. "Remember how it felt and then replicate it at least three more times. After that, you can move on to spins and step sequences."

Tsuna closed her eyes. Remembering the feeling of flying while it was still fresh in her mind. Marking it deep into her bones.

She had a way to go. Each person on the ice knew she wasn't what she had been a year ago or even just six months before; but if a return was possible, then this was the place where it was most likely to happen.

If she could put aside fear, there was a chance she could once again find the Okuda Tsuna that she used to be.

·‡·

The apartment was quiet; its two-inhabitants comfortable enough in each other's presence that no conversation was necessary.

Masae tapped her pen against the stack of papers in front of her, humming quietly before filling out a line in the paperwork she'd brought home from the hospital.

Tsuna's own homework laid out in front of her, sheets of paper, filled with various math problems Akeno had assigned.

Her mother glanced up from her work, pushing long bangs from in front of her face. "You're quiet today, how'd your day go?"

"Morning was hard. Afternoon…" she trailed off. She wouldn't necessarily categorize the practice as hard, but it hadn't necessarily been fun either. "Afternoon practice was…enlightening."

Her mother sat her pen down. "Oh? I have a little time before I'm needed at the Farzin's. Tell me… what was enlightening?"

Tsuna shrugged, playing with the paper's edge. "Did you know that your mindset could affect how you skate?"

"Of course, have you nev— oh… there are days when I forget just how young you are. Mm-hmm. I've seen it hundreds of times in medicine, in both Japan and America. Those patients that are surrounded by family and are positive, are more likely to succeed. Whereas, those, alone, tend to falter and take longer to regain their health." With her knuckle, she lightly tapped Tsuna's forehead. "It's all in there. Positive thinking. There's something to it."

The clock in the bedroom sounded. Marking the time with a shrill squeal before falling quiet.

With sure motions, Masae packed up the papers, and placed them in a bookbag laid haphazardly under the small wooden table. "It never seems, there's enough time, does it. It's rushing by far too quickly." She gave Tsuna a sad smile. "I put a few snacks from the hospital in the fridge. Don't eat too many— and don't forget to call your father." She slung her bag over her shoulder. "Call him. Even if you can't believe it, I promise; he wants to hear your voice. I'll be here when you wake up."

·‡·

_14/10/13_

_6-mile jog_

_30 box jump sets_

_30 seconds on, 10 seconds rest_

_10 squat sets_

_25 core sets_

_4 hours ice time_

_20-minute visualization_

_I couldn't call._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to both Wrackspurtsnargles and Proletaricat for beta'ing this chapter.


	4. Part One: Chapter Four

"—This came sooner than I expected, and I can't say I'm happy, but during the past two years, seeing the rapid level of growth you've gone through, I likely should have expected something of the sort." Coach Miura sighed and covered half his face before rubbing his knuckles against his temples.

"We'll of course be sad to see you go," said Coach Miura, glancing to the side at the three foreign occupants. "And you should know, there will always be a place for you at STC, Ike-kun."

"Coach Miura, you're going to make me cry." If there was ever a moment that he wished he could cry on command, this was it. He'd give anything to conjure big fat alligator tears, the kind that would make Coach Miura squirm and make the same face that was just lurking under the surface. "I—"

"— Souji," Coach Miura warned his face hardening, daring him to continue. "… As I was saying, it has become increasingly obvious that you've moved past the stage that most of your peers are on. So, when you came to me and voiced your concerns, I took some steps and contacted a few of my associates who were kind enough to put me into contact with these gentlemen here." Miura nodded to the three suit-clad men clumped in the small office space next to him.

Souji couldn't help but look each one up and down, his eye drawn to them like a moth to a flame. They all seemed so out of place; surrounded by a multitude of sports equipment. The three reminded him of his father's associates, clothed mainly, in dark grey and black, he doubted they'd found a reason to smile in years, they were an overly stoic lot.

Coach Miura cleared his throat. "— They'll be happy to tell you more. But before they do, I'd like to take a moment to stress just how rare this opportunity is." Miura tapped the top of the desk, making sure that Souji's full attention was focused on him. "It's not uncommon to go overseas, though normally it's an option presented to those a little older than yourself— the first step to a professional career. Still, such a step doesn't come without significant costs. Training partners, coaches, facilities… you were aware of all this?"

Souji nodded, they'd had this exact conversation when he'd first broached the topic. He'd assured Coach Miura that his parents had placed money aside, that as long as the cost wasn't exorbitant, he'd be able to cover the expense. "Yes."

"Good. Tennis at the junior international stage and beyond isn't something that one enters into lightly. It's a whole different world, far harder than anything you've encountered so far."

The man sitting to the far left nodded emphatically, before sitting forward, interrupting Coach Miura "— very hard. There've been others who've tried and come up short, talented youngsters such as yourself…" He abruptly fell quiet. With only the briefest of glances from the suited man sitting in the center, the apparent leader of the nine-to-fivers, the man lost his voice, quickly clamming up and sitting back.

"Miyara-san is right of course, the tennis world is built to weed out the week, and unprepared—" Coach Miura hurried to continue, "— Which is why it's imperative that you have people backing you. A team per se. These gentlemen, Miyara-san, Nakahara-san, and Kasai-san are some of the best…"

Souji couldn't help the grin as it stretched across his face, a poor representation of the general giddiness that had easily overtaken him. This was it. He'd thought about further honing his craft, finding even more opponents he could battle, debuting on the world stage to the cheers of thousands. Everything he'd dreamed about was just there, scant centimeters beyond his fingertips, if he just leaned forward, he'd be able to grasp it.

Miyara, Nakahara, Kasai, Souji committed the names to memory. They weren't what he had expected, candidly speaking he hadn't put any thought to the concept of a team. It was a commonly known fact that behind each of the great tennis players currently on the Tour was a contingent of professionals ensuring the gears never stopped turning.

Souji eyed the three, they were dour-looking, but if they spent enough time together, he was sure he could break them out of their shell. Liven them up just a bit.

The white office light flickered, sending the shadows of the room's five occupants shaking wildly in the otherwise motionless room. With wide eyes, Souji quietly considered the three, his new team. They were all listening closely to Coach Miura, nodding when appropriate, their faces the picture of composed professionalism.

There was a clock head just above Coach Miura's head, ticking quietly away without fail, despite the life-changing meeting taking place just feet beneath.

It was a metaphorical end of an era. Each second that passed, each movement of the clock hand caused moments to pass, moments that could never be revisited. Each click brought him a step closer to the end of his time in Japan and the beginning of what would undoubtedly be a triumphant beginning to his international debut.

Souji nodded to himself, barely able to contain his excitement. He'd have to work on his signature as there'd undoubtedly be requests for it, once his name was illuminated in the bright lights.

"Souji? Souji…"

He jumped, "Yes?"

The shorter and most central of the three businessmen, Nakahara, cleared his throat and corrected his tie. "As I was saying. _Asics_ is extremely excited to offer you this opportunity. We make a point to follow the tennis careers of a few promising juniors; and normally we would wait to make an offer until the end of your first year as a professional. However, after watching your progress we would like to offer you an opportunity to join our team—"

"This isn't what I expected…" Souji said. For a few brief moments, he'd let his imagination run wild, ignoring the ensuing conversation progressing around him. Now to be thrown back into the fray, he felt partly adrift and lost. " _Asics_?"

"Yes," Nakahara said, nodding. "We were informed of your interest in studying internationally through connections associated with Miura-san. We feel that our help could be used to assuage some of the costs that you'll undoubtedly find from travelling overseas. Of course, later, we'd expect a return on investment, but we realize that for this to happen, your initial growth can't be hampered. Based on your track record, _Asics_ would like to offer you a full scholarship to attend the Florida Tennis Academy."

FTA? Souji gawked, wide-eyed at the man, taken aback. Of course, he knew of the Florida Tennis Academy, what tennis player didn't know the illustrious training facility. With a combination of pros and rising juniors, the Academy routinely produced athletes that went on to make a name for themselves within the tennis world. Despite the academy's stellar track record, apart from a cursory look, he hadn't considered the school as a viable option since its tuition was at the bare minimum sixty-thousand a year.

From his briefcase, the _Asics_ representative took out a thick manila folder. "Our company believes it's in our best interest to nurture and ensure that the next generation of Japanese athletes have the ability to represent Japan as best they can on the world stage. We believe you have the ability to be at the forefront of said generation." He slid the folder across Coach Miura's desk, flipping it open as he did. " _Asics_ would hope that if given this opportunity to train at one of the premier facilities, you become a _flagship_ , in a sense for your generation. In the same way that our company has revolutionized the sports attire world, we hope to give you that same chance."

He stared down at the folder in front of him, staggered by the gesture. Just from a cursory glance, he could tell that there were provisions; of course, there would be, he was still a relatively unproven quantity internationally. Nevertheless, to have _Asics,_ a company so well-known and reputable, recognize him, and want to support him, to believe that he had potential…

"What does this mean? Can I only wear and use _Asics_? I mean— I wear _Nike_ now, but I could switch…" He could just picture _his_ face forty-feet high, striking a _really_ cool pose, one fist in the air as a crowd of onlookers celebrated his win with him. _I would look so cool,_ he thought a grin slowly covering his face.

Even if he'd wanted to, Souji couldn't stop the small vibrations of excitement at the prospects envisioned.

"Ah—" the Nakahara chuckled, his hands waving through the air. "Nothing quite like that just yet. Though if the scholarship were to turn into a partnership, I'm sure something along those lines might be on the table. But I believe we're getting a little ahead of ourselves. The contract copy you have in front of you has the complete details of what will be expected of you to continue receiving the scholarship money." The _Asics_ representative flipped through the hefty contract, pointing out different highlighted clauses as well as what each would entail.

"Souji," said Coach Miura, interrupting Nakahara. "I'm sure your father will be able to parse through the legal jargon much better than you and I could. Perhaps our time would be better spent with you all getting to know each other better. Doing a bit of networking."

It was the first meeting he'd ever sat through that hadn't been called because of a mistimed prank or ill-designed joke that had pissed off one of his schoolteachers. As he sat there, answering the _Asics_ representatives' questions and asking ones of his own; Souji had a temporary moment of clarity. If sitting up on the hill, under the shade of the cherry blossoms had been the start, this was his first step, he'd finally left 'Go' and had begun rolling the dice.

"If you agree to the terms, and want to accept the scholarship, the number to fax the signed documents back is located on the top." Nakahara tapped the heading on one of the sheets of paper. "Preemptively, I hope I may be the first to congratulate you on joining the _Asics_ family. We see greatness in you, and believe that you have the potential to live up to all that we believe you can be," Nakahara said. "We'll be waiting for your word, then."

As one the three representatives stood and bowed, first to Coach Miura then Souji, before leaving the semi-cramped office.

Coach Miura's office door swung shut with a hollow thud, the metal latch clicked with a certain finality.

"I have to go see them out, but I think I should say this one more time; just so you can hear once more how big an accomplishment it truly is." Coach Miura stood, as a rare smile graced his face.

Souji couldn't help but note how one side of his mouth tugged a little higher than the other as if his muscles weren't used to the motion.

"You should be proud of yourself, Souji. Companies like _Asics_ don't take note of junior athletes very often, especially when they won't see a return in investment right away," said Miura. "With the economy the way it is, even sponsorships have been relegated to those that are truly proven in the sport, scholarships like yours are even less common..." Miura patted Souji's hand. "You have a special gift Souji, one that others are beginning to recognize and acknowledge. If you choose to accept their offer, which I hope you do; I have no doubt, Florida Tennis Academy will be lucky to have you. You've done well."

·‡·

"You're leaving? I thought…" she trailed off. Motionless except for her hair twisting in the gentle wind.

They sat, looking out on a crowd of their peers. Watching them wave excitedly to each other, eager to leave school and begin their summer vacation. They were the same age, and yet their cares, desires, wants, were so different. It'd be years until his peers would have to make decisions that would dictate the rest of their lives, make the career choices that he, and Natsu, struggled with now. They couldn't wait until their twenties to decide what type of office job they would sit at for the next fifty years. For them, it was now or never.

"I'm happy for you Sou-chan… I guess… I always thought you and I'd go all the way through school together. And then…" Natsu fell silent, staring off into the distant horizon, her expression pinched.

He slung his arm around her, giving her shoulders a tight squeeze. "Eh, Natsu did you want us to grow old together? We'd get married, play the circuit together, you the WTA, me the AT…" He trailed off as a thought crossed his mind and he felt her shoulders stiffen. There were times that he took his jokes just a tad too far, crossing the line without even realizing it. For years he'd known what the line was that he couldn't cross. Natsu had made it abundantly clear at the age of six after he'd teased her about liking Sukehiro the main character from an anime they'd both been watching.

"Do you… like me— wait, you _don't_ _like_ like me do you?" he asked, feeling his heart rate skyrocket.

He'd said it as a joke, without thought of the consequences. But, what if she _actually_ _liked_ him?

 _We've been friends for years, I couldn't imagine_ — Souji shook his head, ridding himself of the image.

Her answering punch numbed his arm and hand; stopping his train of thought in its tracks. "Idiot." She slipped away her tight glare melting away as a less hostile expression took its place. "Course I don't. I might have thought about… we're better off as friends." She sat back down, wrapping her arms tight around her knees.

"Best friends." Souji frowned, choosing his next few words very carefully, as the sting emanating from his arm a friendly reminder that depending on what he said next could decide whether Natsu was more or less understanding. "Besides, I'm sure there's someone out there for you that's so much better than me. I picture a six-foot-five blonde-haired German with eyes the color of washed-up seaweed—" His muscles tensed anticipating the answering punch, they weren't disappointed. "Ouch… you and I… we'd drive each other crazy."

"Insane," she agreed.

Natsu unwrapped her arms from her legs and pulled him back to once again sit shoulder to shoulder. In the silence, she leaned her weight against him, undaunted by the societal norms that dictated there should be a boundary even between friends.

"Do you remember during the summers when our moms would take all three of us to the beach?"

"Mm-hmm, yea," he agreed. "…Shiro hated every minute of it. He said it was because he was wasting valuable training time and he'd rather be at the gym—" he shrugged, "—but I'm still convinced it's 'cause he's secretly afraid of the ocean," Souji said, smiling at the memory of his brother sitting in the hot sand refusing to enter the surf even after hours of their combined cajoling. "Why are you thinking about those trips now?"

"Mm… no reason, really. I just realized our summers are over. There'll be no more trips to the ocean."

As she leaned against him her hair brushed his face, tickling his neck, reflexively his nose wrinkled as a sneeze attempted to push its way through. _Not now. If I sneeze now, I'll laugh… this is a serious moment, they'd never find my body if I laugh. Hold it in—this—is—a— serious moment_ , his face twisted with the monumental effort.

"… It'll be strange not having you here. Who am I going to walk to tennis with, or talk to?" She played with his fingers, threading hers with his. "You have to promise me that when you get the chance you'll call and text. There's no excuse for not keeping in touch… okay? We'll stay friends no matter what… okay?"

A joke floated through his thoughts, begging him to say it, release it to the world. Reluctantly and rather impressively if he said so himself, he suppressed the urge. His arm still smarted from where Natsu had previously punched him.

"I promise that even if I'm playing in the middle of the jungle or the desert, I'll take the time to call."

"Ike Souji, professional tennis player."

"Not yet." His head came to rest on hers. "Hey, who knows. I might get to America and find out I can't cut it." It was a poor joke, one that even he couldn't find the strength to laugh at.

"I don't think you will Sou-chan…. fail, you know. We both know how good you are. You might have thought that I didn't notice, but I've seen how you are during your matches, how you become a different person. You have more fun when you and your opponent are evenly matched, and you can take him apart little by little. In that last match against Asato-san, you weren't having fun, beating him like that. Right?"

He blinked, thoroughly bemused.

She had noticed.

He hadn't known or understood until he'd taken the time to reflect, but Natsu like always had seen through him and had known what he needed and what had been missing.

Wordlessly Souji stared down at the last few remaining stragglers, their backpacks haphazardly thrown over their shoulders, ties, and shirts, undone and untucked. He had no desire to be like them; ordinary.

She squeezed his hand. "—But that's why you won't fail."

"What?" Souji asked, returning his attention to the current conversation.

"When you go to America. I know you won't fail because I saw how much you hated that win against Asato-san. You need a challenge, and once you get it, I don't think you'll be able to let that go."

His eyes slowly closed, letting her words sink in.

There was no one else in the world that knew him the way Natsu did. Since childhood, they'd learned how each other ticked. Without thought, Souji pulled her closer, pulling her into his side until their shadows were unrecognizable as anything resembling human.

"… It's funny. When we were kids it was like no matter how hard I tried you were always a step ahead. And now… it's like you've cheated and taken three steps instead of one. You'll wait for me, right?" asked Natsu.

He nodded. "Mm-hmm. As long as you don't take too long."

Wisely, he didn't comment on the growing pool of tears dripping from her chin, soaking the front of her shirt.

They sat comfortably in the quiet; the silence punctuated only by an irregular hiccup.

The sun, having long since reached its zenith, had begun to slowly descend from its temporary perch. In the dying light, the sun's rays took on a deep amber color, and in exchange for the warmth it instead put on a beautiful show of light. _I'll never forget this moment_ , he thought.

In the waning moments of the day, they sat together, staring out into the magnificence playing out before them.

"Don't get hurt, okay… listen to your coaches… and make friends with people that aren't just tennis players," Natsu said, listing everything she could think of in the short amount of time they had left.

"Thanks, Natsu—"

"— Did you already say goodbye to everyone at STC?"

"Eh…"

"You forgot, didn't you?"

Sheepishly, he scratched the back of his head. In some cases, she knew him far too well. "I was planning on going after I saw you. Did you want to come with me?"

She shook her head. "Today's my rest day. Besides, we don't need to say goodbye more than once. Right, Sou-chan! Any more than that and it sort of loses its meaning, doesn't it?"

·‡·

The courts were quiet; as most of the members had already left for the day, the excitement of summer break unable to keep them tethered to the practice courts. It made no difference, the people who Souji interacted with on a regular were still there. For those who made it to court A, tennis had evolved into something that they couldn't live without.

"Hunh, I thought you were skipping practice," Takuma said. Next to him in the midst of their unsupervised practice stood the majority of court A; Shinji, Raku, and Misaki. Takuma leveled his racket at Souji, a serious expression on his face. "I thought you'd chickened out and that you were too scared to face me on the court."

" _Please_." He tsked under his breath. "Give me a moment to warm up, then we can have that three-set match we talked about." Misaki," he called, gaining the tall dark-haired girl's attention. "Will you stay and judge?" asked Souji, running a hand over his racket face, checking the strings, searching for any imperfections.

The older girl nodded and gave him a thumbs-up before moving to pick up a few stray balls in her proximity.

Going through his typical warm-up, Souji could feel Takuma's gaze trained on him, assessing while waiting impatiently for the match to start.

Through the years they'd played so many matches, both official and unofficial. If there was anyone in STC that he knew almost as well as himself it had to be Takuma. _How many matches have I lost against him? Sixty-seven?_ Souji thought, swinging his racket, warming up his shoulders. _I hate losing._

He rolled his head, feeling the pressure slowly mounting. Perhaps he was imagining it but the air on court A felt just a little heavier than normal. Across from him Takuma grinned and levelled his racket at Souji, his challenge clear. They could both feel it, this match's significance, on some level they both knew that it was worth far more than just a simple three-set match.

"You won the toss—" Takuma called out across the otherwise quiet court, "—from before when we got interrupted. So, you take first serve and I'll take this side."

Misaki straightened moving to stand just on the outer edge of the court. "You're both ready then? Best of three-set match. Ike-kun to serve."

·‡·

Souji bounced the tennis ball, once, twice, three times, before turning his attention to his opponent standing across from him, separated by the net.

For as long as he could remember Takuma had been called a genius.

For six years he'd watched from the sidelines as Takuma Egawa had stood at the forefront of the Japanese tennis scene. Winning every tournament he'd entered, dominating the field and in turn their generation. Takuma had been given the label 'once in a generation talent', and he wore it proudly. For six years Souji had watched Takuma easily shoulder the hopes and dreams of what Japanese tennis was to become. From across the net, Souji eyed the other, sizing him up.

When had everything changed?

_His racket cut through the air, sending the ball streaking across the court._

Without thought his feet moved forwards, allowing his instinct to dictate his actions.

_He caught Takuma's return on his forehand and sent it on a hard diagonal in the opposite direction._

"15-0," Misaki called.

Taking measured steps Souji returned to his serving position just behind the baseline. From the corner of his eye, he watched Takuma shift and bounce, keeping his muscles warm as he waited for Souji's next serve.

This was a game that he didn't want to rush. He had an inordinate need to savor each moment as if it was his last.

_Fast serve down the center._

Relying more on power than his gift of delicate touch, Takuma met the ball and sent it deep into Souji's court, pinning him to the baseline making it impossible for him to make the same play that had scored him the first point.

Following his ball. Takuma moved forward, stopping halfway between baseline and net.

Serve and volley. Takuma's bread and butter.

Souji grinned and returned the ball with a lob that was both high and deep.

He could feel it, the subtle shift in the tide, the slight tilt of the playing field. Did Takuma know that this game had already been decided, could he feel it the way Souji could?

"30-0."

To this day, he could recall the lecture his mother had given both Shiro and himself after one particularly unruly dinner where more food had ended on each other than in their mouths. He could still remember the disappointment on her face as she explained that civility at the dinner table meant not playing with one's food. The lesson had only stuck when applied to the dinner table.

Once, twice, three times, Souji bounced the ball, noting that Takuma had moved just slightly closer to the center section of the baseline. _He's preparing for a serve down the center, I could go wide… it'd be easier to serve wide—_ he bounced the ball one last time before falling into the beginnings of his service motion— Sometimes playing with one's food couldn't be helped. _Center._

"Game, Ike. 1-0, change court," Misaki called.

With just ninety seconds rest in between games, it could be said that this was the most important part of any tennis match. Just enough time to formulate a strategy or regain one's breath. Souji leaned against the canvas wall, feeling his heart rate slow to a more even pace. He'd expected to hold serve, though perhaps not so one-sided. It was the next game that would inevitably bring challenges. Contending and containing Takuma's serve— absentmindedly he passed his racket from hand to hand— now wasn't the time to grow cocky, not yet, not before he'd severed the snake's head.

"Time." Misaki waved them both back to their respective baselines.

Souji stepped up to the return position, twirling his racket in hand, ready for whatever Takuma would throw at him.

_The ball spun wide._

Propelled by an incredibly nasty spin, it pushed him out from behind the court's baseline and to the edge, opening a wide expanse for Takuma to attack.

_Shit._

Souji's racket just barely caught the return, sending the ball back high and slow, a perfect target.

"Fault," called Misaki, resetting the point.

He huffed softly, eyeing the path Takuma's return had taken, if the ball hadn't bounced just outside the service box Takuma would have easily won the point. If he wanted to win, he couldn't slack off now. He'd played Takuma enough over the years to know just how quickly the older boy could turn a match to his favor. If Souji crushed him early, it'd be far harder for Takuma to find a way to fight back.

 _Now or never—_ he crouched, readying himself — _maximum effort._

Misaki cleared her throat, "Fifteen seconds."

Takuma served.

His forehand had always been a source of strength and glaring weakness. His reliance on the stroke serving as a neon sign pointing out to his opponents to strike at his backhand. Takuma was no exception; he targeted Souji's backhand as often as possible, forcing him to either return with a stroke that was under par or maneuver himself around the ball and lose precious seconds.

It was the same tactic Takuma had used on him for years, and for years without fail it had worked. There was no reason for Takuma to believe that this match would be any different.

Souji cursed as Takuma easily positioned himself for the return, taking advantage of the weak spinning ball his backhand had produced.

The ball flew back into his court with a newly regained energy, Takuma's return slice, slid past him.

"15-0."

It was an excellent return and a sterling example as to why Takuma for much of his childhood had been considered a genius. He'd never been biased; it was possible to see the beauty in his opponent's tennis while still attempting to tear it apart.

Souji bent, readying himself for Takuma's next serve.

He didn't have long to wait. Takuma's response flew over the net, targeting his center court.

This time, however, he was ready for it.

Souji returned the ball placing a high arching, deep spin upon it. Once again keeping Takuma in the deeper end of the court, rejecting his desire to return to the net and play to his strengths.

Their returns weren't meant to test each other, they already intimately knew each other's game.

Souji let fly a particularly sharp cross-shot.

The pertinent question as the point dragged on, was, who would break first?

 _There_.

It was indescribable. The little voice in his head that whispered to him when to push and where to place the ball. In the two years since he'd first heard it, it hadn't steered him wrong. A split-second decision, a gut feeling that told him the time to play with his food had ended.

For just a few seconds he could see everything on the court. He could see the ball slow as it approached, Takuma just behind it moving up the court readying himself for the next blow.

 _This is it._ There wouldn't be a next one, the voice in his head told him so. This strike would be a blow Takuma couldn't recover from.

Souji sent a low fast slice down the line. Passing Takuma's feet before he'd been able to ready his racket.

"15-15."

With every point and each rally, Souji could feel the gears beginning to turn. His decision-making quickening, as he allowed his mind to take a back seat as his instincts led the way.

He sent a deep topspin to the corner of the court.

"30-15. Ike leads."

_Could he feel it? Does he know that this court belongs to me?_

He met Takuma's serve head-on, not shying away from the dastardly fastball, returning it with a fast topspin of his own.

He'd never been very successful in keeping Takuma glued to the baseline, not allowing the other to commence his favored style of tennis. Now was as good a time as any to see the fruits of his labor.

Takuma's ball came racing back across the net, just barely skimming over the woven lattice. Placed just a meter short of the baseline, Takuma was doing his best as well to keep Souji from moving up.

He could feel the futility; whether Takuma Misaki and the rest of court A knew it or not, he could feel it.

Souji smiled. Watching his ball arc gracefully before dropping down just on the other side of the net. A perfectly timed drop shot.

"40-15."

It was only the second set, yet he could already tell that it, and the game was his.

Weaknesses he'd seen in Takuma over the years and yet had never had the wherewithal to attack were suddenly and painfully obvious. Takuma's serve though incredible was returnable. Kept to the baseline Takuma's threat was far too diminished. His groundstrokes not yet strong enough to give him the ability to brute force himself up the court.

He'd questioned before the match had begun when everything had changed, the point or day that he'd surpassed genius.

Souji bit his lip, following through with his forehand.

In truth, it didn't matter. What did matter was that Takuma, STC, Japan was no longer enough.

_The ball passed Takuma's outstretched racket._

"Game, Ike. 2-0, change courts."

Never had the divide felt so large than when a tennis court stood between them. This would be his last match in Japan for a while. He likely wouldn't play another match here until he returned on one of the professional circuits. It was almost poetic that his last match was against Takuma. The necessary bookend to his time in Japan.

"Time."

He owed it to Takuma to give him the best game he could.

Souji served the ball.

·‡·

"Game, set, and match, Winner Ike Souji. Final score 6-0, 6-0."

·‡·

STC was quiet, the clubs only sound from the errant final ball as it bounced across the expanse of indoor courts, before coming to rest on the far wall. The match between Takuma and Souji had lasted just an hour and a fifteen, barely enough time to watch a full Disney movie. Souji twirled his racket once more before fully letting his guard down. The perfect end to his time in Japan.

"I'm glad I got to play you before I left Takuma-san." He held out a hand, waiting for Takuma to shake it, and bring the match to a close.

Distracted Takuma stared at his appendage, making no move to take it, "you're leaving…when?"

His hand wavered slightly in the space between them and threatened to drop. Stubbornly, obstinately he kept it up, he could wait until Takuma was ready. "Tomorrow morning."

"Oh— what about Kanto?" Takuma asked.

He shrugged; he'd already come to terms with the fact that he'd miss, Kanto, Nationals, and all other purely Japanese tournaments. "About a week ago, Coach Miura pulled me, the tournament should release a revised seeding chart."

Finally, after what had felt like an eternity, Takuma took his hand. "Where will you go?"

"Florida—" he grinned, "— 'where dreams come true'," Souji said.

"You're so annoyin—" he froze, his face going through a myriad of expressions, "—ugh… good luck." Takuma dropped his hand and turned, ignoring the three other members of court A standing quietly on the sidelines watching the exchange.

Maybe it was a result of all the years of Natsu urging him to apologize to Takuma after one insensitive comment after another, but he could feel her now pushing him to say something to the retreating figure. The match was over, he was no longer the opponent, now he was simply a boy he'd grown up with, one he'd tentatively consider a friend.

Souji stepped forward, resting a hand against the net. "We'll play again… when we're both pros?"

Takuma paused mid-step, his head bowed, he didn't turn. "Yah, maybe… have a safe flight."

"What?" Souji leaned against the net, feeling it give slightly under his weight. "No hug goodbye? I won't be back for some time; aren't you going to miss me?"

Takuma didn't look back as he pushed the blue canvas netting aside, "God, you're so annoying."

·‡·

 _"As the Winter Olympics grow closer and our Japanese athletes gear up to compete for the fabled Olympic gold, here are some of the athletes are viewers should pay attentio…"_ The airport television news host faded out of earshot quite quickly as Haneda airport was unusually busy for the time of year.

There wasn't a space in the airport that wasn't occupied. Everywhere Souji looked people were eating, sitting, sleeping, working. He fell to the side, pushed by a young girl and a gigantic violin strapped to her back, it was only his father's grip on his elbow that kept him upright.

Languages not normally heard in the streets of Kanagawa flowed around him, a constant reminder that in just sixteen short hours, Japanese would no longer be the primary language he'd be immersed in.

 _I should have studied harder in English_ , he thought with a frown.

"Just so you know, when you get famous, I'm selling all your baby stuff online," Shiro said, pushing him lightly on the shoulder. "I'm going to make a fortune, hocking Ike Souji collectibles."

"Eh?" Shinji asked, interest peaked. He leaned towards the older of his two sons, slinging his arm around Shiro's shoulder. "Do you _really_ think kids these days will spend money on stuff like that? How much do you think they'd spend for some of Souji's baby hair, or his nail clippings? Your mother has a box in our closet filled with both of your childhood mementos. I'll bet you five, she won't miss a couple of items if they were to go missing."

As if she had ears and eyes in the back of her head, Hatomi turned, a hard-unyielding smile on her face. "If I see either of you go anywhere near that box, I'll serve nothing but natto for an entire month. Natto for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Natto ice cream, I'll even find a way to put it into the tea…"

Souji smirked and quietly blew a kiss to Shiro before sticking out his tongue.

He only had another fifteen or so minutes before his flight began the boarding process, he'd be bereft as a little brother if he didn't take the time to needle and annoy the other.

"You'll call us when you land, yes?" His mother's hands found his own, holding them far too tight to be considered comfortable. "The phone we bought you is for _you_ to use to stay in contact with us and your coaches. Don't give out the number to just anyone. And don't forget to make lots of friends."

"You sound like Natsu," Souji said.

"She's got a good head on her shoulders. I hope you listened to her." With one hand Hatomi pulled Souji's father, Shinji, to her side, with the other Shiro, bringing them all into a tight circle. "You're there for tennis but it doesn't mean you can't have fun."

They all could see the tears as she spoke, the way her eyes glittered, and water welled in the corners. Without prompting, she leant into Souji's father's arms, gaining strength from his presence.

"Hatomi. The boy'll be alright, he's got a good head on his shoulders, even if it does screw a little loose sometimes" His father chuckled, pulling all four of them into a tight protective hug. "Don't forget that we raised _both_ our sons right." He placed his hand on top of Souji's head. "Don't get too bogged down when you get there Souji, remember why you're there and what you're striving for. And don't forget to call your mother."

Shiro leaned in closer, "I might not sell your baby stuff, but I'm _totally_ going to hock your old tennis shirts since I need a new pair of MMA gloves."

Souji closed his eyes, basking in the closeness of his family, with their arms around him the sound of their voices drowning out the din, he could just about imagine that they were anywhere else. That they were not encircled in the sterile white of the airport, surrounded by strangers bustling from gate to gate and the smells from places too far away for him to imagine. For just a few moments inside the bustling Haneda airport hive, Souji could imagine that he was home.

A low hum sounded just before, with a squeal the PA system turned on. "Boarding for flight 148 to Miami, Florida will now commence. We repeat, boarding for flight—"

The illusion shattered; his eyes opened.

This was his path, the one he'd chosen and had committed himself to. He wouldn't allow himself to walk it with fear in his heart, it'd be a disservice to not only himself but all those that believed in him.

He allowed himself one more hug, squeezing his mother and father just a little tighter and longer than normal before he was off. As he walked to the boarding gates, he didn't allow himself to look back and neither his parents nor his brother called after him as from this moment on he'd only look forward.

·‡·

There's something strange that happens after you've existed in one space for any great amount of time. As one becomes more acquainted with every nook and cranny, the space seems to shrink and contour to the body, becoming smaller with each breath, each movement until it is more akin to a coffin than an airplane seat.

Fifteen hours and counting, locked in a tiny metal flying box, if he could scream, he would.

His body had become so used to activity that sitting for any long period of time set his nerves aflame. For the last half hour, his leg hadn't stopped its nervous shaking, he hadn't missed the looks his two seatmates had sent him as he inadvertently shook their chairs as well. Florida was just underneath him; his future was just a plane's touchdown away. He couldn't have stopped his shaking even if he'd strapped himself to the seat.

"Please set all trays to the locked position and raise all seatbacks. We will begin our descent to Miami, Florida where the local time is 1 pm and the temperature is a balmy 80 degrees Fahrenheit. Thank you for choosing to fly 'Japan Airlines'."

As subtly as possible he unfolded himself and leaned forward. Staring past his seatmate and out their tiny shared window.

There, just under the light cloud covering, lay the city of Miami.

·‡·

"Souji? Ike Souji?" A tall blonde man carrying a cardboard sign waved enthusiastically to him. "I was wondering where you got to; your plane came in later than expected. I'm Mike by the way, nice to officially meet you."

He shook the offered hand, tamping down on his urge to bow. "Are you from the Florida Tennis Academy?"

"Hah, you're far more careful than Coach Miura led me to believe." Mike bent, his bright blue eyes sparkling, and put his hand on Souji's shoulder. "I promise, I'm not here to kidnap you."

Following Mike to the black van parked on the airport's corner with FTA's insignia on the door. After spending only a few minutes in the muggy Florida air, he couldn't help but look forward to the air-conditioning inside the car.

"The academy thought it was best if I picked you up, give you a better transition… I'm one of the academy's physical therapists and a sports psychologist," Mike said, unable to let the silence sit in the car ride for very long. "You'll have meetings with either me or one of my colleagues at least bi-weekly…"

Where appropriate Souji nodded, his attention focused on the multitude of palm trees framing the highway, the ocean in the background. _It's exactly like the pictures_ , he pressed his nose to the cool glass.

Japan and Aikawa had always seemed so large but sitting with his cheek pressed against the window of Mike's car as his view of the ocean gave way to impossibly tall skyscrapers. There was so much of the world that he had yet to have experienced.

"…we're excited to have you join the FTA family. I think you'll be pleased with the academy's facilities and coaching staff. The other day I happened to see the plan the coaches drew out for you, after consulting with your former coach." Mike nodded, before continuing. "I think you'll like it. We'll push you, but I'm sure you'll find that you're in the best of hands. Mm-hmm. In the entire world, you'd be hard-pressed to find anything quite like the academy..."

Unable to keep his eyes open he slowly nodded off, lulled to sleep by the sound of Mike's voice, and the smell of salt from the ocean.

·‡·

Souji couldn't help the gasp that forced its way out of him as he saw the FTA grounds.

How had he once thought STC large when FTA was like a small city unto itself.

It was one thing to see pictures on a modem, it was a whole other experience to see them. An expanse of tennis courts, outdoor pools, gyms, track facilities. Everything a tennis athlete could ever want or need was laid out before him.

"Wow."

Everywhere he looked, there were tennis players, never before had he felt so much like an insignificant drop of water in the ocean.

"Everyone's face is like that the first time they see this place," Mike said, slowing the car to a crawl, giving Souji a full look at the gargantuan expanse of building slowly passing them by. "As I said, the academy has everything you could ever want, well… at least for tennis."

Mike drove through the academy's winding roads, giving him his first in-depth look into the place that he'd stay for the foreseeable future. For the first time since the hour-long drive had begun, Mike fell quiet, allowing him all the time he wanted, to take everything in without interruption.

The academy's car came to a stop in front of one of the smaller buildings. Off to the side and without the modern accoutrements, it was easily overlooked; and yet there was a sense of homeliness to the establishment that was lacking in the others.

Mike cleared his throat. "I'll show you to your dorm, so you can put your bags away before I give you the grand tour." He led the way through well-lit corridors, dragging one of Souji's bags behind him. "You'll have three other roommates, so I hope you're good with sharing your space."

Souji nodded, only partly paying attention to the conversation, the rest of his focus on door after door of wildly decorated signs, marking the inhabitants. "I didn't realize so many stayed on campus."

Nodding, Mike stopped in front of room 412 and entered in the code. "We do have a few that commute daily, but most of our athletes, especially those looking to make a go at pro, like to stay on campus. Plus, it makes it easier since most are from all over the country as well as the world."

With an exaggerated motion, he swung the dorm room open, giving Souji his first look into his new home. "I'll give you a second to get your bags into your room, then I'll take you on a tour of the facilities." He patted Souji gently on the back, "We have time, so I'll wait downstairs."

Without fanfare, Mike let the door close, leaving Souji alone for the first time in almost half a day.

He was here, He'd taken the first step and had begun on the second. There'd be no turning back now.

"I'm home."


	5. Part One: Chapter Five

_1/11/13_

_Three months till February and Turin._

·‡·

" _We welcome you back to NHK Trophy's day two of ladies' figure skating. This marks the start of our live broadcast of the ladies' free skate. Coming to you from Sapporo, Japan; I'm 1992 Olympic Silver medalist, Nomura Toichi and I'm joined today by the 1989 and 90' world gold medalist Tanaka Shuko."_

" _Thank you for the introduction, Nomura-san. Our viewers are in for a treat today. We have a fantastic group of ladies competing here today for not only the 2013 NHK title but for some a berth in the 2013 Grand Prix Final."_

Tsuna leaned forward. Her attention fixed on the computer screen as six of the top skaters in the world poured forth from the rink's edge, before quickly spreading out across the wide expanse of ice.

" _This competition is made all the more important as it comes just months before the biggest competition of the season,"_ _Nomura said, smiling at the camera._

" _That's a slight understatement Nomura-san," Tanaka said. "The Olympics isn't just the biggest competition of the season. For many, if not all, it's the biggest of their entire career. And almost equally important, today's competition will serve as a barometer to the skater's federations of their potential come February—"_

The screen flashed from the two former skaters in highly tailored suits to a close-up of one of the Russian skaters, Dmitrievich as she whizzed across the ice.

"— _Tanaka-san let me stop you for a moment to take the time to introduce our competitors for the evening. Representing Russia, the phenom and last year's junior world champion runner-up Vasilisa Dmitrievich. It should be noted that normal circumstances wouldn't have allowed a runner-up to gain two spots in the Grand Prix Circuit but due to injuries Dmitrievich was given the opportunity."_

As Nomura spoke, the camera caught Dmitrievich performing a sky-high triple lutz, with a deep outside edge and her ability to open up far before her blade caught the ice, even with the shoddy library wi-fi she could see the perfection.

" _Dmitrievich has certainly run with it, hasn't she… in Trophee de France, her first senior competition, she came dangerously close to breaking the free skate record," Tanaka said._

" _Mm-hmm. Of course, we can't forget Dmitrievich's countrywoman, Angelina Mustafina. She's one of the oldest of our competitors here at NHK, second only to Hughes from the United States."_

" _Don't count out Mustafina, she's highly decorated and a proven commodity amongst the competitive world. She'll be looking to show the Russian federation that she's still able to put together solid programs and run with the new wave of skaters that I'm sure she can feel breathing on heels," Tanaka said._

" _Our next competitor, Olha Bilyk is from Ukraine. She's their five-time national champion, but unfortunately, she's never had much luck on the Grand Prix circuit. Has she?"_

At Tanaka's word, the camera panned to right, showing the first skater set to take the ice. As Tsuna watched the Ukrainian skater nodded, and leaned heavily against the boards, listening to last-minute corrections from her coach.

" _Yes. Unfortunately, as the numbers go, even if Bilyk pulls off a first-place finish, she still won't have the points needed to make it to the finals… Still, artistically, she's wonderful to watch and no doubt will put on a great show tonight."_

" _From Italy, we have Diana Palmisano."_

_Nomura nodded, rubbing his hands together. "Palmisano's still young, and relatively unknown, so this is her one and only Grand Prix event. She'll be looking for a good showing to hopefully boost her hopes for the second half of the season."_

" _Uzbekistan is also represented, by Mehri Onarova. We and our audience should congratulate Onarova as this is the first time Uzbekistan is represented on the Grand Prix Circuit."_

" _Quite an achievement, for her and Uzbek, though Onarova trains and lives in Canada, she's expressed how excited she is to have this opportunity and how momentous it is for the country she represents."_

" _Finally, rounding out our lineup, from United States, Haley Hughes. She's come into her own this—"_

"—Oh, Isn't that your coach?! That's your rink mate, right?" Akeno asked, shifting excitedly in his seat as the television crew focused on the familiar face. He pointed at the computer screen, as Haley's face flashed by the screen. "The African-American girl that I've seen going into the rink? How's she?"

"Mm-hmm, my rink mate Haley. She's good." Tsuna frowned, 'very good' was a bit of an understatement, two world's silver medals and a fourth-place finish at the last Olympics, Hughes was far better than 'very good'. She subtly shook her head, "She's incredible."

As the six-minute warmup concluded the cameraman swapped focus, no longer concentrating on a single skater, instead, showing a wide pan of the entire rink as skaters flew from one side to the other working on jumps, step sequences, and last-minute spacing before the competition began.

As they watched, Haley stopped at the boards and bent forward to listen as Coach Moravec and the elderly Russian standing next to him, Madam Zakharovna, gave last-minute instructions and corrections.

" _You can practically feel the tension, can't you Nomura-san?"_

" _For good reason. For some of these skaters, this will be the last major competition before they compete for a spot on their national team. They'll want a good showing as most federations base their picks off more than just one competition."_

" _Exactly—"_

"She's lucky," she said, rubbing her sweaty hands against the tight elastic of her yoga. "Haley has a good shot at winning U.S nationals and representing her country this February…"

"Mm-hmm," he murmured non-committal in his response. "I should have clarified what I meant when I asked you 'how she was'. I meant how was she as a friend?"

She paused, carefully taking a deep careful breath while considering the pixelated image of the other skater. What exactly were they? Were she and Haley friends? They didn't talk outside of practice, or even during training, other than to check to make sure the other hadn't brained themselves on a jump. "…we're friends." It was strange how she couldn't tell if that was a lie or truth. Tsuna ran her tongue over gums, feeling how dry they were, it was in strange opposition to just how wet the palms of her hands were.

"Good—"

"Quiet," hissed a librarian. Shooting a glare at them as he passed their table pushing a cart full of books ready to be shelved.

Chastised, Akeno pushed his chair closer to Tsuna before continuing. "That's good. You need friends, people your own age, that can take some of the pressure off you, so you're not just focused on the Olympics."

"I don't need friends! I don't need distractions! And I don't need your help!" She bit her lip, afraid of whatever it was that had just welled up inside her. Under the small circular table, she played with her fingers, refusing to look at Akeno, pretending as if she couldn't feel the searching gaze, burning into the side of her face. "…it means everything to me. It has to."

"Never mind—" Akeno sat back, slowly shaking his head, he offered her a small concessionary smile, "—forget I said anything."

Tsuna let out a long slow breath, the tension between them was palpable, if she placed a hand between them, she might even be able to touch it.

The first skater on the Livestream took the ice. The Italian, Diana Palmisano.

_"—out of these six. She's the least likely to medal."_

_"Her technical level just isn't equal to the others. But that hasn't stopped her. She's done well to make it as far as she has, top six after the short program. But it's a long way from first."_

_"Skating to Franck's Symphony in D."_

Tsuna leaned forward, digging her nails into her thighs, feeling that awful, stomach-turning sensation of anticipation she'd come to associate with the start of a competition. Even if it wasn't her competition the thought alone was enough to send her into cold sweats. She leaned forward, focusing on her feet.

"Oh, wow—" Akeno leaned closer, a tinge of forced cheer audible in his voice, "—did you see that? That jump spinny thing that she just did. That was pretty cool, right? Was it hard? It looked hard…"

She shook her head, far too focused on controlling her breathing to respond verbally.

How was it possible that although the competition was taking place thousands of miles away, it felt like she was just moments away from stepping on the ice.

Despite Coach Moravec's assurances, she felt _so_ unprepared; ill-equipped to deal with anything more than just practice, paralyzed by fear when she thought about what was to come. It was like taking a step too far and finding out the ground no longer held her weight. And yet, that was the plan, in just three months, if everything went right, she'd skate before the biggest crowd, for the most important title all, to fulfill a promise.

Her breathing stuttered before picking up speed.

She was there. It wasn't Palmisano stepping out of the triple lutz before missing the second jump in the combination or losing her balance on a change foot spin. Through a strange new transitive property, Palmisano's mistakes became her own, she could feel what she was emoting as poignantly as if they were her own. It wasn't her routine, and yet it was consuming her, eating her whole though she was thousands of miles away, in a different time zone, sitting in a far too quiet library.

Closing her eyes, Tsuna focused on breathing in through her nose and out her mouth, struggling to calm herself. It wasn't her mistake, she wasn't the one competing, she was okay.

"Tsu— Tsuna—Tsuna-chan—"

It's strange. She becomes aware of Akeno's hand rubbing comfortingly against her shoulder blades as if awakening from a dream. If she hadn't known better, she might have believed that time had skipped and dropped her without warning into the future.

"—do you feel …alright?" asked Akeno, his voice returning in full as the white noise faded to a distant hum. "I thought you'd want to watch this, but we can do something else, math's fun—"

"I'm fine." With one hand she brushed Akeno from her back, for all the comfort that he offered she couldn't help but parallel it to a chain wrapped around her waist, holding her down.

Thousands of miles away Palmisano struck her ending pose, and the crowd erupted into polite appreciative applause.

" _Palmisano had a few—"_

Without prompting Akeno removed her headphones, silencing Nomura's analysis of the performance.

"You're not fine—" He broke off his speech to smile at a second librarian just before the woman could reprimand him for talking. "I found a coffee shop a few days ago that sells a rather authentic masala chai. It's within walking distance… Okay?"

She didn't move, her legs seemingly glued to the library chair. "We still have tutoring."

"It's fine, it's good to blow school off every once and a while— don't tell your parents I said that." A momentary blush reached the tips of his ears before fading. "Besides, if you want, we can do some math while we're there—"

"—I'm fine with skipping."

In one smooth motion, Akeno closed his laptop and grinned. "Good. It's healthy to take a break. Besides, I can only spend so much time in this library. It's a little too stuffy in here. We need to get out and see the world."

·‡·

"—he's amazing, I could watch him play for hours on end. Vargas has this unearthly control—" he shook his head, "—what he's able to do with a soccer ball. He's like—" Akeno's face wrinkled in thought, "—do you know Vargas? The basketball star who can shoot from anywhere?"

She shook her head.

In response he mimed an exaggerated fade away, uncaring of the looks garnered by the other pedestrians. "Someday, we'll all have to go to a Lakers game." He glanced over at her noting the polite indifference. "Or maybe we'll do something else. There are a few karaoke-boba places around town that I've been dying to try. Santa Clarita has such a large obsession with tea and singing—" he shook his head, "— Most of my college friends are busy with their own lives and I'd go alone but when I do the staff tend to look at me funny. Like they've never seen a twenty-year-old want to sing and eat in a room by themselves—"

"I'm sorry… about before…"

Akeno looked down at her and ruffled her hair before grinning and continuing as if she'd never interrupted, "—I mean there's nothing…"

Tsuna paused, staring wide-eyed at Akeno's rapidly departing figure. The conversation though inconsequential was so genial and normal; it filled her with such familiar feeling, one that hearkened back to a far happier time.

With shock still running through her, Tsuna hurried down the street, "Wait! Akeno-san, you sing?"

·‡·

The café was barely half full. With only a handful of young men and women in the establishment and most if not all glued to their laptops and screens, headphones firmly planted, shutting out the outside world, the café' was filled with ambient noise. Soft samba music and the occasional hiss of steam filled her ear, giving the café's occupants not only a visual experience but also an auditory one.

"This is…" she trailed off, being careful to step around one of the café's patron's slumped bag.

"—Two masala chai's, and… Tsuna-chan do you have anything special in mind, like a muffin or scone? We can share…"

She shook her head; attention fixed on the dark green vines dangling from the ceiling, light purple flowers adorning the lines. It was like Akeno had transported them from the Santa Clarita metropolis into a lush Sri Lankan jungle. The longer she stood staring, transfixed by the green ceiling the more convinced she was that if she stood there long enough the ceiling would open and rain would begin to fall.

"Beautiful, isn't it? I saw pictures on the website, and I couldn't help but come. It's like sitting in the middle of a forest." He steered her towards one of the open tables just by the windows. "I'll bring the teas, okay. Cinnamon?"

Curling up on one of the large one-person sofa-chairs, she pulled her feet underneath her as she waited for Akeno to return. Absentmindedly, she watched what was obviously a foreign film over the shoulder of an oblivious patron. The overly dramatic character's movements reminding her of the mid-morning soap operas she'd gotten used to watching during her month off from training.

Without fanfare Akeno sat down across from her, blocking her view just as what she could only assume as the villain, a hard-faced, goateed man brandished a silver pistol.

"Here, it's a little sweet, but that's what makes it good."

Akeno handed her the second of two overly large ceramic mugs.

Tentatively she took a sip, noting the overwhelming taste of cardamom and cinnamon to it. "It's… amazing." She took another sip, savoring the flavor and the warmth that crept down her throat, to her stomach, and into her limbs. It was a positively lovely feeling.

Tsuna relaxed into the seat, comfortably watching the quiet swirl of the light caramel-colored tea, it'd be so easy to get lost in the depths of the hot drink. There was a certain meditative quality.

Across from her, Akeno stirred his tea, his brows furrowed, an intense look of concentration marring his expression. His tea apparently lacked the same meditative qualities as her own. "Tsuna-chan…I hope I'm not overstepping boundaries by asking this. But when did you start having anxiety attacks?"

His question was out of left field and left her with a distinct feeling of aimlessness.

Tsuna stared at him wordlessly without an answer to his question. "I'm not—I mean I don't— what?"

Akeno frowned and tapped the side of his mug, all the while intently watching her, looking for something before realizing whatever it was wouldn't be found. "Alright. Fine. If you don't have an answer for that: tell me, is skating fun?"

"Ye—" she froze, her answer caught in her throat.

How many times had she been asked whether skating was fun? Countless times over the years, by parents wanting to know if they should enroll their children in the kiddie classes, classmates after they'd heard their parents talking about the girl in their year that occasionally showed up in the local paper.

Each time she'd given her answer there'd been no hesitation, the 'yes' on the tip of her tongue before they could finish their sentence. They hadn't been lies, but looking back, she wasn't completely sure whether even those answers had been complete 'truth'. If she'd known what ice skating would cost, could she have so blithely answered?

The 'yes' wouldn't or perhaps couldn't come. Somewhere, at some point, the answer had changed, or perhaps she'd become more truthful with herself.

"… Is tutoring fun?" Tsuna asked, ignoring Akeno's question.

He nodded absently, still watching her far too closely whilst stirring his tea with one of the tiny metal spoons the café provided. "Sure, I enjoy it—" he gave her a shit-stirring grin, "—though I do wish you'd do more than half-ass your math answers. You haven't answered my question."

Fiddling with the mug's handle, she lightly curled her pinky around the burnished ceramic, feeling tiny bumps on it before shrugging. Akeno had already confessed that he knew her tell and could see when she was eluding the truth. It'd be pointless to lie and yet she physically couldn't form the word 'no'. "It's fine, it's like..."

"—work? Is that what you were going to say?" asked Akeno. "I'm not a world-class athlete; I mean, sometimes I trip over my feet just walking between the bathroom and the bed. And perhaps I'm wrong to equate the two, but I've seen my fair share of college students, friends, bend and break under the pressure. They forget the initial joy of learning something new and can only focus on the end product." He shook his head, wrestling with the right words. "It shouldn't be like that. You only get one life, what you do with it—" he tapped the table, his gaze fixated on Tsuna, "—what you do is up to you, but I'd find a way to make the most of your life. Find what makes _you_ happy… Jeez—" he scratched the small scar just above his lip, "—look at me. I swear, the older I get the easier it is to lecture." He sat back releasing Tsuna from his piercing gaze, as it morphed into one far more contemplative. "I should just become a teacher, or something, put that lecturing to good use. It'd be easier than getting into a lab," mumbled Akeno.

For the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon, they sat in the coffee shop. Talking about the most inane topics. Favorite childhood snacks, Akeno's love for baking and baseball. Her first time watching American reality television.

Their conversation was so plebeian, yet she found herself enjoying every minute of it.

Not once did she think about afternoon practice or the looming expectations drawing ever closer pushed forward by past hopes.

For that hour she lived solely in the moment and if he noticed that when they left the café she walked a little closer or talked a little more, he made no mention.

·‡·

Tsuna bent her knees, slowly rolling them in and out before bending forward, allowing gravity to further stretch out her tense back muscles. The ice felt good this afternoon. She'd been able to tell after just one lap that if nothing else it'd be a good jumping day.

She glanced over at Anne; the other had been throwing jump after high-level jump, since practice had begun, landing some and falling dramatically on others. Without Moravec's presence, Letvin, the only remaining coach, hadn't a hope of controlling her. She knew it, they all knew it.

From the gap between her legs, she caught the sly wink and tiny wave Anne threw at her, just before beginning the long approach needed for an axel. Small assurance that they both knew what the other was currently going through.

All things considered; her own practice had been rather lackluster. She'd had her fair share of tumbles, the dark spot on her lilac tank and steadily reddening palms was proof enough that she'd not gone mistake-free.

Tsuna pulled her arms forward and let them hang just above her head, feeling the tight stretch through her shoulders.

"Ms. Okuda, when you're ready—" Letvin called, "—we'll start the music for your short program. Full run through, replacing all your jumps with doubles and sing—"

"—Oy! Is that an order from Coach Mo or is it something that she could blow off?" asked Anne, leaving her part of the ice and coming to a stop next to Letvin, her hands pasted to her hips. "There's so little time left, and no one else is here to find out, what could it hurt if we played the game?"

"Anne…"

Each of them knew the game Anne was talking about. It was the same every time, a game of one-upmanship. Where one skater started and the next had to either perform the same skill or increase the difficulty. They never got to officially play when Moravec was there, at least not an official round, instead, it was a loosely agreed upon 'back alley event', done in secret when Moravec's back was turned.

"Anne—" she warned, biting back the rest of what she wanted to say, hiding it behind a full toothed smile. "I have to run my program; I can't _not_ go through it."

"Oh, come on, please! It's been so long since the off-season, we haven't gotten to try new skills in ages. Please"

"Anne." Tsuna had one moment of sinking desperation, it felt like every other day she stood next to the other skater, exasperatedly saying her name. Today was no different, though, with Letvin and no Moravec, there was a high chance this particular incursion wouldn't end in a set of suicides or power pulls.

"No—" Anne waved her off, "—we've, well Tsuna's been good this entire practice frankly the entire week. Don't you think we deserve a reward?"

It wouldn't work, they both knew that despite how long Anne tried to drag the conversation they'd quickly return to their regularly scheduled practice.

Tsuna turned and moved to quietly slip away. Both she and Anne could see the vein on Letvin's jaw becoming more apparent with each passing second. It was proof enough that Anne's argument for foregoing the rest of practice fell on deaf ears.

Find joy. The light caramel brown of the masala chai accompanied by the smell of the cafe flashed through her mind. It'd be so easy to turn away.

"Can we?" Tsuna asked, returning, albeit reluctantly, to the conversation. "What if one of us misses a connection or falls on a jump, and we have to make an impromptu connection?"

"See—" Anne bounced on her toe picks, unable to keep her excitement fully under wraps. "If Tsuna the stickler—"

"Hey!"

Anne shot her a look and a smile before continuing. "If Tsuna's willing to do it, you know it's not a bad idea. I mean c'mon she's a goody-two-shoes. Think about it, if Moravec told her to do laps until the next morning she'd actually do them."

"I would…" she trailed off, mollified.

Realistically, if Coach Moravec told her that skating twenty-plus hours would guarantee her a spot on the Olympic team, she couldn't honestly say that she wouldn't do it.

Letvin threw his hands into the air, the vein on his neck disappearing. "This doesn't leave the rink. Andrei never finds out, and if he does—"

Anne let out a whoop and danced away. "I call first!"

"He's going to find out," murmured Letvin. With an exasperated sigh, he covered his forehead with his hand. "Anne will inevitably tell one of the juniors and then they'll tell Madam Simakina, and she'll tell Andrei…" He made the sign of the cross against his chest before turning to Tsuna. "I hope you'll set flowers on my grave after Andrei buries me."

"Tsuna!" Anne called, "I'll be starting with singles, so you can't complain about fairness. Oh, and Coach Letvin, you should stand over there so you can judge and keep track of the points."

However unofficial, this was a competition. With both hands, Tsuna pulled the loose hair hanging around and sticking to her sweaty face back into place. Though the thought of competition might fill her with dread, it didn't mean she'd lost any desire to win.

"What should I start with? Something easy, right?" asked Anne, while skating slow circles around both Letvin and Tsuna. "How about a… a… oh, I got it— a single toe loop!"

Figure skating unlike other sports doesn't determine a winner or loser because of a last-minute play or head-to-head confrontation. Results were instead decided by a panel of judges; individuals who'd spent their lives learning the intricacies and inner workings of the sport and had the ability to not only judge a skill for its technical merit but also its artistic. Each skill performed had a point value attached to it, determining its base worth.

A single toe-loop.

Four tenths.

Anne could do the elementary skill in her sleep if necessary. Her jump floated through the air, as her arms tucked just the barest amount to gain lift from the ice. Landing with only the necessary knee bend, with a turn of her head, Anne grinned at the two of them, her arms checked out to the side, brimming with excitement and unadulterated cheek. "Perfect GOE? Right?"

"On a single axel," Tsuna called back. "You're celebrating getting a perfect GOE on an elementary skill! You think that's enough to beat me?" She grinned, rubbing her palms against her thighs.

"I'll give you—" Letvin dithered for a moment, leaving them both in suspense, "—plus two."

"That's it? Seriously?" She crossed her arms, gliding slowly towards them. "That was textbook…"

"Plus two," Letvin repeated, repeating his previous judgement before turning to Tsuna.

Perform the same skill but better, or up the ante and try a harder skill.

In addition to a skill's base value, judges had the ability to add or take away points based on a 'grade of execution'. Six bullet points that if the skater completely fulfilled then would allow for up to an extra three points to be awarded.

A total of two and four-tenths. It'd be so easy to perform the exact same skill, only substituting a harder entrance or exit; but jumps unlike what Anne would sometimes like to believe, were not everything.

Up to a point, spins, step sequences, and spirals could be comparable to jumps.

Taking two steps, she cleared just enough room between them, before falling into a relatively easy level one upright spin.

Keep it simple and perfect, do enough to remain even, or just pull ahead. She pulled her arms in, changing positions while speeding up the rotations. Sure, a junior skater could easily complete the same spin, but this game, especially the beginning stages wasn't about ease, it was about perfection.

"Well?" she asked, turning to Letvin. "What's the score?"

"Three and two tenths." Letvin pointed to the spot she'd just vacated. "You traveled a bit."

"Oooh—" Anne peered down at the lines etched into the ice, noting the slight deviation apparent in the marked surface, before looking up, "—harsh. I can already tell. This'll be fun."

"Get used to being in second." Tsuna pointed behind her to the paper Letvin was using to keep track of the score. "You'll be playing catch up the entire game."

·‡·

Her fingers skimmed across the ice as her leg extended towards the vaulted ceiling. It was possible to save the triple toe-loop, but for all her trouble it wouldn't look good.

"I thought you said you'd give me a challenge?"

Anne skated in front of her, blowing small annoying raspberries in her face and wearing the same grin she'd had for at least four consecutive rounds. Though they'd both started out with lower-level skills, Anne had quickly gotten tired of playing in the kiddie pool and had graduated to harder far more complicated skills. The types of jumps that no combination of spins could ever compete with. She'd brought out the big guns, and in order not to be blown out of the water, Tsuna had had to answer.

"Where's the fight?" asked Anne, egging her on, while skating circles around her.

She clenched her fists, just barely stopping herself from reaching out and tripping the other. "Just you wait. If you think a triple-double loop combination is enough… I'll do a triple, no, a quad and gain back all the points. I'll make you eat my ice—"

"— You know that's not fair, right? I can't understand Japanese." Anne slung her arm around Tsuna's shoulders, "If you give up now, I'll let you down easy. I promise to only gloat for two, no, three weeks, tops."

Anne peeled away, her expression far too happy to be of any comfort. Something Tsuna would almost certainly hate was coming. She was right.

A triple axel in combination with a double toe. There was a slight under rotation and what might have been the tiniest bit of a two-footed landing, but with a base value GOE of just under ten points, it dwarfed any other skill Tsuna had thrown the entire game.

"Not my best, but that puts me in the lead, right! There's no way you can come back from that!"

"—Choke on my ice," Tsuna said with a smile before switching back to English. "It's not over till Coach Letvin calls it so don't carve my name on the grave just yet. 'Sides you left the door cracked with that landing"

Their game of one-upmanship had so clearly showed the results from the past few months of inaction. She'd so obviously slowed. Her jumps were short, connections she'd attempted to match or surpass Anne weren't completed, and when they were, their 'grade of execution' was deemed either non-existent or in the negatives.

"Girls, enough," Letvin said, waving to them. "You're both acting like such children, if I'd known this game would turn you both into this—" he froze, aware of just how precarious a position he'd placed himself in. "Maybe we should stop while your both still on speaking terms?"

Tsuna turned, fixing Letvin under an unyielding stare that she hoped was somewhat equivalent to her mother's. "Not yet."

She'd yet to land the quad toe without major assistance from a harness, but today was a good enough time as any to try. God, if she landed it, she'd wipe that smug grin off Anne's face and put herself within a point of the other. It'd be a gamble— she gained speed, her concentration focused solely on the skill, there'd be no interesting, or innovative entrances or exits. High risk, high reward, and it was a game of one-upmanship, the rules practically dictated to try the fantastical skills only performed in one's dreams.

Her toe-pick was the last to leave the ice, propelling her into the air as her arms pulled in. She'd cheated the entrance, in an actual competition with instant replay, it'd be apparent to all watching, but in an almost deserted rink with only Letvin's judgement, there was a chance.

First rotation— just barely off the ice, her arms curved in, torque already pulling her around.

Second rotation— her limbs snapped into place, pulled as tight as possible to her axis maximizing the speed of her rotation.

Figure skating was physics at its most basic. Although this jump added another rotation, the law of conservation of angular momentum would not change.

Third rotation— it passed far too quickly in a blur of colors and distorted shapes to be of note.

Third and an eighth of a rotation— the gravity-defying forces failed and the inevitable pull brought her back to the earth's surface. It was always surprising how quickly she fell.

Third and a quarter— Her toe pick hit the ice first, destabilizing and slowing the rotation.

If she'd been stronger, she might have saved it, though by that same note, if she'd been stronger, she might have cleanly rotated it.

She fell; hard.

Her ribs and elbow took the brunt of the impact. Shaking her to the core she could feel it in her bones, as her skeleton contracted, yielding to the hard ground as it threatened to break her. She wouldn't shatter, at least, not from this.

"Oh—" Letvin's voice rang muffled in her ears; in a strange dissonance to the high-pitched squeal accompanying her slide across the ice and into the boards.

"Oi!" The voice was a bookend, a period marking the end of her slide and announcing the arrival of a foreign entity into the rink. "Seriously!"

Lying against the bottom of the boards Tsuna attempted to control her breathing, somewhere just above her stomach she could feel her diaphragm jumping, rebelling against any attempt to draw breath.

Anne came to a slow stop next to where she lay before maneuvering herself with a long sigh to sit on a patch of ice next to Tsuna. "Nice fall, _very_ graceful…"

Across from them, Letvin shook his head, his hands and body oozing what looked to be a combination of contrition, something that Tsuna could only speculate to be remorse, and, or anxiety. If he'd been closer or facing towards them, it would have been easier to tell, but from her position, it was quite impossible to see.

She closed her eyes, feeling her diaphragm finally stop its frantic dance, allowing her to draw a full breath. "I forgot that he was coming this week…"

"Mm-hmm… you should get up, if you lie there any longer, you'll stick to the ice… the Zamboni will have to peel you up."

"It's surprisingly comfortable," she said using the boards to lever herself to a seated position and let her legs stretch out in front of her. Tsuna motioned for Anne to join her on the ice since they'd been temporarily forgotten.

In one smooth motion, Tsuna let her head come to rest on Anne's shoulder.

Four imperfect white skates, sitting in a line.

"I've never seen _that_ skater before," said Anne.

"Hmm?" She murmured; attention caught by the ever-growing argument happening across the ice.

"You've never practiced like that… well, at least not here. Usually, it's _yes_ , Coach Mo, _no_ , Coach Mo. You go through the motions, like you're not excited about how _cool_ our sport is—"

"I am just getting back," Tsuna interrupted, unsure what Anne was implying and where the conversation was going.

"I guess…"

For a brief moment, Letvin's voice rose above Nilton's, as he attempted to drown the other out, before returning to the same unintelligible whisper.

"—He doesn't look happy," Tsuna said.

"Which one? They both look like they might strangle each other…murder on ice…" she giggled at the thought, before sobering as another thought crossed her mind. "I didn't think you'd go for a quad. I didn't realize you'd go so far or that you'd mind losing."

She shrugged, "I shouldn't have tried it. I let you bait me."

"—no control… she…supposed to be on the ice…look at her!" Nilton's voice rose an octave.

"God, he might _actually_ strangle Letvin. If we don't do anything would that make us an accessory? Shit—" Anne quickly looked away, choosing to focus on the large American flag hanging from the ceiling, "—Letvin saw me looking."

Tsuna's mind flashed to the crumpled sheet of paper, buried in the bottom of her skate bag. She barely knew the man and yet he somehow made her feel like a child caught with their hand in a cookie jar. She glanced up from where her head lay resting on Anne's shoulder.

"At what point do you think we'll be able to guilt someone with just a look? Is it like you turn eighteen and then you get the ability?" she asked.

Anne shrugged. "Haley can't do it and she's twenty-one; I think it depends on the person. Some people like Coach Mo or Madam are natural-born 'guilters'. I'd put money on the fact that Mo came out of the womb with a frown on his face. Others, like me… I don't think it'll ever come naturally."

"Oh— swe—Tsuna!" Letvin waved to her, from her vantage point. His face looked far redder than anything she'd seen. "Please, come over!"

On leaden feet and with a heavy stomach, she made her way across the ice. The closer she drew the more she could hear.

"…such a load of utter horseshit!" Nilton spat. "And to think that you'd bring a child over to stand as some sort of defense."

"Not a child, an athlete. Something that you used to be. Do you remember Nilton? What it means to be an athlete?"

Something indecipherable flashed across Nilton's face and his shoulders visibly tensed.

"This coaching staff takes the utmost care of all our skaters," Letvin said, waving her closer. "Neither Andrei, Soika, myself, or any of the other coaches would ever put one of our skater's health in jeopardy. This accusation—" Letvin bit off the rest of his sentence and turned to Tsuna; fixing her with a tight smile. "You did good today, both of you, though I'm sure we can all agree there's room for improvement."

Nilton turned to her, still wearing the same uncomfortable tight expression, and switched to Japanese. "Tsuna-chan, if you'd get off the ice. We'll do a follow-up and I'll give you my professional opinion, on what you need to do moving forward."

She nodded and followed Nilton. Behind them, Letvin let out a curse.

·‡·

"Turn around for me." Nilton hummed quietly, his hands twisting her shoulders, before pushing lightly prompting her to lean forward as he studied the curvature of her spine. "What do you feel when I press here?" His fingers worked at her spine's base, lightly pressing at tired muscles.

"It's fine—" she let out a small hiss as one of the more tender areas lit up in an aura of uncomfortable warmth, "—a little tender, but it doesn't hurt as much as it did."

He tsk'd quietly. "Just from watching you skate, I can tell that you're favoring your left side to take some pressure off your back. I should warn you, that's a good way to create even more problems. I can't be certain without scans, but it feels and looks like your enflamed muscles have slightly worsened since last I saw you. You're young and otherwise healthy, so you might not feel it right now, but I can't stress enough the amount of damage you risk doing to yourself if you and your coaches insist on continuing without rest."

With two months left until Nationals, it'd be foolhardy to step on the brakes now. The time to pull back had long since passed. Tsuna shook her head. "If I wait, or rest... I'll never be ready in time."

"You won't even consider it, will you?" He huffed quietly, before stepping back to take a few notes on his ever-present clipboard. "Sometimes, it's hard to remember that you're not one of the athletes I work with on the regular. World-class athletes no matter the sport are experts in pushing their bodies past their limits, it's important that they have someone to tell them no." As he spoke, he circled her, making a few more last-minute marks.

She froze, before feeling unimaginable heat rise into her face. "Coach Moravec and I thought it best—"

"Tsuna-chan let me stop you right there. You won't convince me that this training path you and your coach have decided on is the right one. Not when I've just examined your back and found obvious signs of overuse."

Nilton sat heavily on the box she and the rest of the skaters regularly used for box jumps, his hands clasped before him. "I'll say it again and pray that this time you listen. I've been where you are, and I've seen other athletes just like you. Although Andrei and I have our difference in opinions, he is a wonderful and incredibly coach, but he isn't a trained medical professional." He cleared his throat. "Andrei is an incredibly gifted skating coach, and he's turned out an amazing number of champions, but he's old-school especially in injury management. 'Skate through the pain' and all that Soviet bullshit. You're not my athlete, so I can only give you a recommendation, but I'd suggest that you _stop_. You're young, and you're thinking about the upcoming Olympics, completely forgetting that if you stay healthy who's to say you can't go to the next two. No one wants a pyrrhic victory."

"Thank you for the advice," she said, bowing low at the waist.

"No need for that." Nilton stood up, unclipping a piece of paper from his clipboard. "I'll get off my soapbox, there's no obligation to listen to me. I'll send a typed list of modified exercises to both yourself and Andrei, but this is for you." He handed her the paper, as he tapped it with the back of his pen. "I'm not naïve, I doubt you'll stop just because of some words from someone you've only met twice, so here's a secondary list of recommendations I made for you. Letvin told me what your training schedule has been like for the past few weeks, and I'm not naïve enough to think it won't ramp up even more as the weeks pass. I want you to add these exercises and stretches, they're for recovery and should help alleviate some of the tension from your muscles."

Tsuna blinked, recognizing that Nilton had written it in a mix of hiragana and kanji. "Thank you. Truly."

"Mind you… that's not an official go-ahead. It's solely a game plan that seeks to minimize the damage."

She stared down at the carefully typed out notes; he'd known. The carefully written instructions the only indication that he'd had some inkling of how the meeting would go.

"Will you send this to coach Moravec as well?"

He bit back a sharp laugh. "I wish my answer was 'no'. I don't want to take any part in encouraging his recklessness. Still, we all have to do our part. I'll inform him that I've given you this second sheet and send him a copy." He held up three fingers. "Scout's honor."

"You're very kind Leite-san. The athletes you work with are lucky to have you."

"It's just unfortunate that I can't help every athlete." He stood and began to repack the tools he'd used. "Despite my reservations, I should inform you that my wife and I look are looking forward to seeing your routines. Lately, she's been using one of your old junior videos to teach one of her younger skaters the correct way to smoothly transition out of a jump."

"Oh?" She wondered briefly just what competition his wife had decided to use, she'd competed in so many competitions, a good deal more than the others in her age group. Looking back now, they were all just a confusing, exhausting blur. "Does she have many students?"

"Mm-hmm, a few. Despite what'd you think, given the Florida weather, skating's not as popular. Most people would rather play football—" he chuckled quietly and shook his head, "— _every time_ , soccer, or baseball. Still, those who've enrolled love it, and of course, it helps that she's quite good at what she does."

They paused at the rink's entrance.

"Andrei has my number, and he can call me if there's a need for another session. I'd like to give it to you as well, in case you ever have any questions or need anything." He fished out a small business card; his name and profession prominently stamped upon it in bold black lettering. "Don't hesitate to call. My wife would have my head if I didn't do all I could to help Japan's next generation."

Mid-step Nilton turned, the sun creating a ring of light at his back.

"Good luck."

·‡·

_"Hello? … Hello?... can you repeat that, I didn't quite catch it… Hello? I'm just joking around, this is Okuda Isao, I'm either practicing or watching my sister, either way, I can't come to the phone right now, so please leave me a message telling me how wonderful I am—"_

The phone shook as her fingers threatened to drop the device. Every time she heard his voice a small part of her felt like it might just crawl up and die.

Tsuna smothered the small sob against the back of his hand. She could picture him now, sitting in the small padded practice room, cello between his legs, intentionally ignoring his calls as he worked out a particularly difficult section in a piece of music.

She dropped her phone on the soft bed covers, fingers finally giving up the fight. She could cross an ocean to get away, but hearing his voice still brought out unimaginable pain.

Though no tears fell, her breath came harsh and heavy, rattling her rib cage and awakening phantom pains from falls she'd thought long since healed.

The call hadn't disconnected; it was like he was still waiting for her on the other side, sitting, patiently waiting for her to speak.

She hung up.

·‡·

_1/11/13_

_7-mile jog_

_15: 200-meter sprints_

_30 box-jump sets_

_30 seconds on, 10 seconds' rest_

_10 squat sets_

_25 core sets_

_3 hours ice time_

_2 hours ballet_

_20-minute visualization_


End file.
